Never Setting Sun
by Alex E. Andras
Summary: AU. "Fourteen years I waited for you to find me Dean. I gave up on this family a long time ago." After a hunting accident split the Winchester men apart, Dean finally nears the end of the hunt for his brother and father.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: AU. _'Fourteen years I waited for you to find me Dean. I gave up on this family a long time ago.'_ After a hunting accident split the Winchester men apart, Dean finally nears the end of the hunt for his brother and father.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, it's all owned by Eric Kripke and them at CW. Written for pleasure, not profit.

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Never Setting Sun

"_Dean," the gentle gruffness to his father's voice was unable to get his eyes from the swinging doors as a large hand rested gently on his shoulder._

_"Dean," the call again, and he swivelled his eyes, green meeting brown as his father stared down at him._

_"Son," John started, paused, eyes moving to look beyond Dean, to look to the swinging doors "Son, I've gotta go and sort this out, alright? Watch over Sammy until this all gets sorted." Dean's eyes moved briefly to look beyond his father, focused briefly on the two policemen that stood close by, and then his gaze returned to his father and he nodded his affirmation once._

_"Thank you," John whispered, drawing Dean into a sudden hug, the boy standing rigid in shock "Everything will turn out alright," John continued in his ear "I'll see you and Sammy soon." The strength of the hug increased for the barest of moments, and then the arms left, John's presence fading as the man walked over to the police and all three left._

_Dean was ignorant to his father's departure, his attention once again solely on the finally closed and still doors that his little brother had been rushed through only moments before._

The guitar solo of War Pigs sang out over the chorus Back in Black, and he shifted his weight, awkwardly dragging his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans and flipping it open as he pulled it to his ear

"Winchester," he said simply, tilting his head and raising his shoulder to hold the phone in place, hand travelling to the knob of the cassette player to bring the volume down to a tolerable level before it travelled to join his other hand at the steering wheel.

"Dean," the voice was recognisable, familiar, and briefly Dean allowed himself a smile, hand again moving and turning the volume further down, fingers grasping the wheel again just in time to take him round a bend

"Pastor Jim," he acknowledged, his fingers had began tapping out the beat of a Metallica track without his realising, drumming steadily against the wheel as the car roared down the road.

"Dean, Joshua and Caleb were doing a joint hunt a few weeks back, some place in Ohio, we may have a lead."

"May have?" Dean repeated, a lump was forming in his throat; the drum beat of his fingers growing faster, the tune no longer distinguishable.

"Don't get your hopes up Dean, but a boy a few years back got a full-ride into a university, Stanford. He was in the town paper at the time; they found it in the archives. Dean? They're sure it's Sam."

The drum beat stopped, Dean's knuckles turned white as his grip on the wheel tightened, his foot slamming onto the brake pedal, the car squealing to a stop as his body jolted forwards, the cell phone flying from the precarious hold he'd had on it, clattering to a rest somewhere at his feet.

For a minute he sat silent, barely aware that he'd stopped, dis-interested in the fact that his was in the middle of the road, not even thinking of how lucky he was that it was a back road he'd been driving on, the last car he'd seen had been some hour and a half previously, all he was thinking of was that they'd got a lead. They fixed a location on Sam. They'd found Sammy.

Finally, he regained his equilibrium, fished the cell from between his feet, started the car back up as he pulled the phone to his ear, driving slower now, not daring to speak for a moment, just listened as Jim repeatedly called his name.

"Jim?" he croaked out eventually, his fingers had started to beat out the Metallica tune again, his entire body was trembling slightly.

"Are you alright, Dean?" the preacher asked kindly, and Dean felt a slow smile start across his face

"Yeah," he breathed, "I'm in Utah. I'll head out to California now. Thank Caleb and Josh for me." He didn't listen for a response, just ended the call, tossed the phone onto the seat beside him, a grin forming on his face as he turned the volume of the cassette deck up, turned the car in a sharp u-turn so that it faced the road he'd just travelled, his fingers drummed out one final beat of the song, and then he was gunning the motor.

He was going to get his brother back.


	2. Chapter 2

_2  
_

_The clock had struck midnight some time before, and he finally deemed that the other occupants of the house had all fallen asleep. He rose quietly, freezing at the door as the child who slept on the top bunk rolled in his sleep and mumbled, before settling down, and then he continued from the room, creeping down the stairs and slipping into the kitchen, setting a hand on the head of the small dog that clattered across the tiles to keep it silent as he moved in the dark towards where the knew the phone was, dialling quickly a number that he knew off by heart, his father having drilled it into his head years before in case of emergency, and he held his breath as the dial tone sounded, praying that the man was home._

_"Singers yard,"_

_"Uncle Bobby?" he breathed at the sound of the gruff voice._

_"Dean?" the reply came after the briefest of pauses "Well shit son, where are you?"_

_"Somewhere in Connecticut," Dean replied, his hand again settling on the dog's head as it pushed against his leg "I don't know where Dad and Sam are."_

_"Sammy's still in the hospital, Dean," Bobby told the child "Your dad's around, he'll see you soon." Dean nodded, spoke his affirmative when he remembered that Bobby couldn't see him, and then crouched on the floor, arm going around the dogs neck as he hugged it close, blinking back the tears_

_"Uncle Bobby?" he said eventually "I think I need to call in one of dad's favours…"_

His fingers had set up the Metallica beat again, his eyes flickering nervously at every sign the Impala passed as it roared down the road, cataloguing the miles, counting down the time until he saw his brother again. A sigh exploded from him, suddenly, and he pulled the car to the hard shoulder, reaching over the seat and grabbing up his cell phone, quickly finding and dialling a number.

"Jim Murphy's resid-"

"Pastor Jim?" Dean cut in, voice breaking slightly, eyes moving to watch the cars speed past him.

"Dean, son," Jim breathed, "How are you?"

I," Dean started, paused, scrubbed a hand over his face "I can't do this Jim."

"It's been a long time Dean," Jim pointed out "But you've spent it looking for Sam, you don't want to chicken out at the end."

"I know," Dean replied, "But what if he doesn't want to know? What if he's happy as he is? What if-"

"Winchester," Jim butted in, laughed when Dean murmured an acknowledgement to the name "No, Dean. Winchester. It's what he's going by. He kept the last name."

"Really?" Dean whispered, suddenly more relieved that he could ever remember.

"He'll want to know," Jim stated, "Go find your brother Dean." He added, before ringing off.

And so it was that two hours later Dean was holed up in a motel room just outside of the city, fretfully peeling the topping from his take-away pizza as he waited for the receptionist at the other end of his phone call to pull up the necessary information he wanted.

"We've got a Samuel Winchester on our system," the girl said eventually, and Dean inwardly cringed at the full first name, he'd always been disgusted with his parents giving that to Sam

"That would be him," he affirmed "You couldn't give me his house address could you? Our dad's sick, and he really would like to see Sam, just in case…" he trailed off, knocking more pepperoni from the pizza as he hoped the lie would stick with the girl

"If you could give me your brother's date of birth," the receptionist prompted

"May second," Dean complied, "nineteen eighty-three." His stomach pulled painfully as he spoke, guilt pulling at him as he thought of all the birthdays of Sam's that he'd missed.

He broke from his guilt in time to hear the girl reel off Sam's address, searched frantically in his pockets for a pen and then read the address back to affirm what he was scrawling on the pizza box. The guilt was already dying when he rang off, and he stared down at the address for a number of moments, committing it to memory before he grabbed his car keys and a final slice of now topping-less pizza before he set out.

It was time to remedy the missed years.


	3. Chapter 3

3

_"It's just for a while, Dean," Bobby promised "They're good people. Good hunters. It's only until your dad can come and pick you up, they'll keep you sharp for him if it makes you feel better." The twelve year-old nodded, studied the couple that were stood at the door of the house, and then nodded again. He took a step forwards, then froze and turned back to Bobby._

_"When's Sam coming?" he asked, "When can I see Sam?" Bobby frowned, and one hand dragged the cap from his head, and then studied the boy before him._

_"Jim's still trying to get through to the hospital," he told him "We'll see him soon enough, and then we'll bring him here, you'll both be here until your dad comes and gets you." Dean nodded, gave the man a tight smile, and walked quietly towards the hunting couple at the front door, telling himself it was only a short stay, it was only until John got back._

There was nothing unusual about the block of flats that Dean parked outside, a smile breaking onto his features at the thought of Sam's 'apple pie' life. Whilst it was not the white-picket-fence dream he was sure Sam had lived the past ten years, it was a decent looking area for his brother to live in, and in some ways, he was happy his younger sibling hadn't had to endure the constant shift from motel to seedy motel that came with a hunting lifestyle. Even if that did mean they hadn't been together.

As he climbed from the car and locked the door, his eyes found a pane-less window, the edges charred with ash from a recent fire, and his stomach suddenly tightened, thoughts turning back to that day twenty-two years ago, surely it couldn't have happened again…

He walked into the building, sense of dread building when he got to the required floor to find that the flat his brother lived in was on the same floor as the fire burnt room, he could see which one it was from where he stood at the corridor doors, the ash and char reaching into the corridor, and his sense of dread built as each step brought him closer to the room.

Oh please, no…

Nausea rose up in his throat when he stopped short outside the blackened door, heart trembling as he pushed at the door, the room wasn't locked, the fire damage to great to be able to, and he easily ducked the police tape that barred entry and entered the flat.

The stench of burning assaulted his nostrils straight away, and he moved carefully through the fire damaged rooms, eyes taking in the charred belongings, a pair of comfortable chairs ruined by flame, a table splintered and ash coated.

His fingers ghosted over a framed photograph in the kitchen. It was badly burnt, barely even salvageable, but he could just make out Sam, his brother Sam, smiling for the camera with his arms wrapped around a grinning, beautiful blonde.

"Sammy," Dean half laughed, "If that's a girlfriend, you lucky dog you," he turned away, walking into the bedroom. The fire had obviously been most fierce here, hardly anything recognisable.

His eyes moved over the remains of a bed, and focussed on the ceiling above.

His stomach dropped.

"Oh Sammy, no!" he choked out, collapsing against a wall; eyes fixed on the burn that signalled the fire had been intense on the ceiling. He knew that it had started there, knew that somebody had burnt there.

Something in his mind told him it had been Sam.

Eventually, he forced his body to move, and he slowly left the building, pausing momentarily to pick up the ruined photo. He wanted something to keep, to show him what Sam had looked like.

"Hey!" the shout startled him, causing him to throw himself around as he closed the door and he saw a kid striding over to him "What were you doing in there?" his eyes landed on the photo in Dean's hand, and his eyes narrowed.

"Relax!" Dean said, hands going up in defence "Sam's my little brother." The eyes narrowed slightly further, but then the kid noticeably relaxed.

"Dean Winchester?" he asked, smiled tiredly at the affirming nod "Sam spoke about you, briefly. I thought you were dead." Dean winced at the comment, both because of his brothers misleading and the fact that it applied to Sam, and he ran his free hand through his hair.

"What happened?" he asked, and the kid sighed

"Faulty wiring," he said "We'd all been out that night, Jess and Sam came back early, by the time the rest of us got back the place was ablaze, we had to drag Sam out, or he'd have died trying to save Jess." His eyes again went to the photo in Dean's hand and he sighed.

"Where is Sam?" his heart had lightened at the thought that his brother hadn't died, but the fact that he'd lost his girlfriend, another person he'd loved to a fire above his own bed upset Dean more than he cared to admit.

"Road trip," the kid replied, "Needed to clear his head, school's given him time off, so he's road tripping, last I heard from him he was heading towards Utah." His words were barely out before Dean had turned, barely restraining himself from running, the thought that he might have passed Sam on the road too hard to bare.

The hunt for his brother was the hardest that he'd ever done.


	4. Chapter 4

4

Dean sat at the kitchen table, the bacon sandwich in his hand cold and forgotten as he watched the woman pace, lips pursed in anger as she listened to whomever was only the end of the phone call.

_"I know I'm not a parent, but I count as a current guardian, that should be enough for the information shouldn't it? If you won't speak to me would you prefer to talk to his brother? He's family, that shouldn't be too hard should it? I don't care if you're sorry, stop stalling and just tell me his condition," there was a long pause, in which the woman froze and scrubbed her face tiredly "I had a feeling that that would be the case, goodbye." She returned the phone to its cradle, and turned to Dean, eyes filled with sadness, and the sandwich slipped from suddenly limp fingers as she crossed over and touched his shoulder, surely Sam couldn't be dead?_

_"I'm sorry Dean," she started softly, dragging him into a hug as the tears began to fall from his eyes and even though she whispered reassurances that his brother wasn't dead, it did little to lessen the pain in his heart when she explained_

_"Social services have been involved. They've sent your brother to live with a foster family." _

It was nearing ten pm when Dean pulled into a parking space at a small out-of-the-way motel. And as the car engine clicked and cooled he reached across the seat and picked up the charred photograph he'd taken from Sam's burnt out apartment, as well as a fake FBI badge. This was maybe the thirteenth motel he'd looked in, each one he'd passed had been checked over for his little brother, each one was unsuccessful, and Dean was beginning to loose hope of finding his brother. He'd come so close to finally finding Sam…

The young man at the reception looked up when Dean entered. Eyes wide beneath a long dark fringe, he gave Dean a scrutinising look, sizing the young man up as though to work out if he was going to cause any trouble.

"Hi," Dean started, flashing his badge at the kid, watching the immediate tense of muscles "I'm looking for this kid? Goes by Sam Winchester?" he held up the charred photograph, tried to hide his hopeful expression.

"Winchester," the kid drawled, although his eyes showed excitement, probably hoping that Sam was in trouble with the law, a story to tell his friends the next day "Is he in any trouble?"

"Just an investigation," Dean replied "Suspected arson attack on his house." The kid disguised his disappointment; Dean expected he'd hoped for Sam to be a highly dangerous wanted criminal.

"Kid that looked like that came in maybe two hours ago. Room thirteen." Dean nodded, swallowed back a smile, and turned away from the reception, keeping his steps in check to walk sedately past the rooms until he came to thirteen.

"Here goes," he murmured to himself, taking a breath before he knocked on the door. There was a minute where he held his breath, his body completely frozen, praying that Sam was awake, that he'd answer the door.

Footsteps answered his prayers, and then the door crept open, throwing light over Dean, and he looked up, actually looked _up_ at his brother, and a slow smile spread across his face as he took in the tired face, long hair and sad, soulful eyes.

"Sammy," he breathed "You look great." He watched as those familiar eyes narrowed, trying to work out how Dean knew him, and he watched the eyes examine him closely, widened as they landed at his chest, where he knew his charm rested

"Dean," the whisper made his smile widen into a full-blown grin, and he took a half step closer.

"Hey," Dean said, his body automatically leaning forwards slightly, soaking in his brothers presence

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked, he was blinking owlishly at his brother, but stepped to the side, a gesture for Dean to enter that he happily took, stepping into the warmth of the room, eyes roaming over the furnishings, noting the filled duffel at the foot of the bed, the running laptop and the beer and half eaten plate of chicken and rice on the table, testament to his brother's existence in this room

"What, can't your brother come for a visit?" Dean asked, "You're not an easy man to find you know." He knew it was the wrong thing to say the second that Sam's eyes narrowed, and watched the muscles in both his brother's jaw and the arm that still held the door open.

"Is that it?" he asked quietly

"Well I was thinking about a beer…" Dean started, wincing at his own words, praying that he had just thought before he opened his mouth for once.

"So you just stroll in after all these years and just what? Go for a drink and catch up? That everything would be alright then?" he shifted, body extending slightly and one long arm reaching out and grabbing Dean's jacket, pulling his brother close, angrily glaring down at his sibling

"I wait you know," Sam said bitterly "fourteen years I waited for you to find me Dean. I gave up on this family a long time ago." He released his brother forcefully, making the shorter man stumble backwards towards the door, where he stared wide-eyed at Sam

"Get out," Sam whispered, turning his head, refusing to meet Dean's eyes "I don't want to see you again Dean, just get lost." Dean stepped backwards, feet hitting the pavement outside of the room, and he stood open mouthed when the door was shut tight in his face.

For a minute he stood frozen, fighting the conflict of emotions that raged within, before he finally was able to push down the want to knock on the door and strangle his brother as soon as he answered, decided instead to give Sam the night. He'd book into a room, stay the night, and in the morning he'd find Sam out, explain to him that he had searched, that he'd hunted for his brother more than anything else, explain that he was sorry.

Mind made up, he turned reluctantly from the door, moving towards the motel reception, pulling his wallet out to check he had the credit cards he needed to book into a room for the night.

He'd book into a room, head for a bar, and drink away the grief that consumed him from Sam's rejection.

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Sorry it's taken so long for an update folks, been busy with university essays. Thanks to everyone who's read, and to ya'll who've reviewed. Hope you all have a good Bonfire Night!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_The room was far too bright and cheerful, he'd decided sullenly. The walls depicted pictures of television characters and cartoon characters, toys littered the floor and the comfortable chairs and couches were littered with cushions. Altogether, it was far too cheerful for his current state of mind._

_Dean sat hunched in a corner, wedged in the corner between two couches, shadowed by the heavy pieces of furniture as he stared mournfully out at the murals on the walls. His eyes lingered for a moment on a picture of Lion-O but he knew that Sammy would not like this room either. The wall that held the door also was devoted entirely to clowns. There was no way that Sammy would like this room._

_The door opened at this point, and Dean stiffened, burying his head against his arms, tightening his arms even more around his knees._

_"Mrs Bevan, perhaps we could continue to discuss this inside…"_

_"There is nothing to discuss," the cool voice of the hunter responded, and Dean felt the vibration of footsteps come closer to his corner, and tensed further_

_"If Dean is unhappy in your household then there is matters-"_

_"There is nothing to discuss," the woman responded again, her voice colder, closer "Dean is unhappy, I'll admit. But not because of my living in my home. He will run from whoever he is put with. If you allowed he to see his brother-"_

_"That is not possible Mrs Bevan."_

_"Then do not suggest to take Dean away," the boy shook at the words, and almost jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder "Come on Dean, I'm taking you home."_

Despite his late night of drinking, Dean was awake early, sitting bleary eyed in the restaurant attached to the motel at a table against the window, hunched over a mug of strong coffee so that the warm blast hit him full in face and effectively woke him through the smell alone, his eyes solidly on the parking lot and, more importantly, fixed upon the closed door of room thirteen.

Sam's room.

He had spent most of his night hunched over various glasses of beer, mulling over Sam's words and thinking of what he would say to him when he saw him. Now he was sat, waiting for his younger brother to emerge from his room so that Dean could go over and talk to him.

He'd been sat there for a while, it was his third coffee.

A touch on his arm and the soft clink of china startled him, and his head rose long enough to meet the eyes of a pretty dark waitress as she set a plate of pancakes before him, told him they were on the house, and he managed his trade-mark grin that had her blushing and scurrying for the kitchens.

His eyes returned to the closed door as his fingers sought out the knife and fork and he automatically ate.

"Bad news that you gave the kid?" the voice startled Dean, and he turned his head around with a snap. It was the young man who had been on reception last night, and now that he had found Sam he was more aware of other people, and was able to pick out that this kid was maybe a little older than Sam, wore his hair long and over his bag-lined eyes, and kept three studs in one ear.

"What?" Dean spat, bluntly, his eyes wandered to the plate, and he wondered how long he had scraped away at bare china, before his eyes travelled once again to the window, watching the distant door of room thirteen.

"Was it bad news you gave the kid last night? He looked pretty out of it this morning, like he'd not slept at all." His voice was clipped, a slight British accent underlying the American, and Dean did a double take at the words.

"He's been in this morning?" he asked, eyes scanning the restaurant wildly, perhaps he had missed Sam when he'd walked in this morning, perhaps his brother had gotten past his constant stare at the door.

"Just before I signed off this morning, about four thirty? He didn't look to good, how bad was the news?" he was watching Dean with wide inquisitive eyes, but the older Winchester son wasn't paying attention any more, knife and fork falling onto the plate with a clatter, his body propelling itself up and forwards upon its own rights, his hands hunting out his keys.

He paused for a moment as he passed the awestruck man, turned his head to look intently at him, and the kid shrunk back.

"What was he driving?" He asked, "What car did he leave in?"

"Camaro," the kid reeled off automatically, still slightly stunned, body pulling back as far as possible from the tense hunter, frightened that Dean would lash out at him, as though it was his fault that Sam had run during the night "Dark green Camaro, dent in the drivers side." His words are barely out before Dean was gone, striding across to his room, grabbing his duffel from the foot of the bed - happy that a need to leave quickly had been drilled into his head so often that he hadn't unpacked anything - swinging it over his shoulder and striding to his car, cursing and glaring darkly at the door to number thirteen which was now slightly open, a cleaning maid having gone in whilst he'd fetched his things from his own room.

He was in the car and speeding from the motel, knowing that he was going the right way because Sam would know that he knew he lived in Palo Alto, and would not attempt a return to California if he was running from Dean, and Dean was willing to keep moving across the country, was willing to tear apart every motel until he finds Sam again.

If only to explain to him why he did not, could not, save him fourteen years before.


	6. Chapter 6

A.N: Fixed Dean's age in the flashback at the beginning of chapter three. He should have been twelve and not fourteen.

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6

_The rain was coming down in sheets, the sound of it pounding the tarmac and preventing any from hearing anything but. Not that there was really anyone out in the weather, no cars crawled up the street, no pedestrians clutched hopelessly at umbrellas as they were buffeted and broken by the strong wind and relentless rain._

_Only one form moved in the rain, a small child huddled against himself as he moved through the rain, eyes practically closed as he tried to see through the rain that stung his eyes. He moved quietly down the street, so that even without the rain he would not have been heard, only seen as a small, dejected child trailing down the sidewalk, pausing at the gate of each house that had lights on, curtains open, before moving on._

_The powerful shine of a car's headlamps cut the dark long before the sound of the engine reached his ears over the hammering rain. He had paused at a house, leaning heavily against the gate, staring at the window with tears rolling down his cheeks, indistinguishable from the rain_

_"Dean!" the voice was barely notable over the rain and the engine, familiar and yet not expected in the slightest, and he chose to ignore it "Dean!"_

_A hand landed on his shoulder, and he turned him head up, suddenly sheltered by a large umbrella that rocked in the wind, but was held steady by the man who was staring down at him with worried eyes_

_"I wanted to see him, Pastor Jim," Dean had said quietly, eyes again going to the window, the child playing with his mother and father looked like Sam, but wasn't "I want to see him but I can't find him."_

He drove continuously, stopping only to step into each motel he happened upon, stopping only to walk into the office, pull out the charred photograph, and reel off his fabricated story of an arson attack, only for each time to become a disappointment as each person at the reception shakes their head and gives a murmured apology.

He almost got lucky at one point, a short woman at a desk in Wyoming recognised the picture, had told him she'd seen a shaggy haired young man that matched Sam's description. And Dean was hopeful as he crossed the parking lot, optimistic even though the green Camaro the kid from last nights motel saw was not there, thinking, hoping, that perhaps Sam had changed the car for another, perhaps knew that Dean was looking out for it.

The kid looked similar to Sam, but to Dean the differences were blaringly obvious, and his disappointment was shown as he slammed a fist into the door of the kid's room after he'd closed it with an apologetic look.

By midnight he is exhausted, and knows that he has to stop, has to pull his car over and get some sleep. He could miss his brother if his exhaustion played up any more, could crash the car, and each motel he leaves behind him adds to his mounting anger. A few hours sleep could dissipate that.

The lights are out in the tacky room, and he'd just shuffled beneath the covers when someone hammered on the door.

His eyes snapped open, instantly, sleep deserting and leaving him wide awake, his hand creeping beneath the pillow and wrapping tightly around the hilt of the knife kept there. The knocking started up again, loud and insistent, and slowly he rolled over, padded over to the door, his body held so that whilst he gives off the appearance of still being half asleep he is actually ready for any confrontation, his right hand behind his back discreetly hiding the silver dagger.

"Sam?" his surprise is genuine, at the sight of the tall figure in the doorway and Sam gave him a small, shaky smile.

"Hey Dean," his voice small, whispered, "Can I come in?" Dean nodded, stepped to the side, allowing Sam entry, and his younger brother stops short and stands awkwardly by the small metal table. Dean grins at him, pushing the door closed with one foot, he sets the knife onto the closest counter of the kitchenette, noting Sam's flinch as he draws the armed hand from behind his back, notes the relaxing of muscles as he sets the weapon down.

"Sit down," he told Sam, moving around the kitchenette, going into the fridge. Sam is sat awkwardly in one of the small plastic chairs when he turns back around, and he sets a beer bottle on the table before his brother before leaning against the counter, popping the top from his bottle before taking a long pull, his eyes never leaving Sam.

"Sorry," again Sam's words are whispered, making Dean frown, and he lowers his beer onto the table beside the knife, watching as Sam fiddles with the sticker on the bottle.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," Sam's words are stronger now, his head is bowed, but Dean can see his brothers eyes are flicking from the bottle to his older brother, unsure of what to do "About last night, I was angry I guess, it's not like it was your fault. I mea-"

"Hey," Dean cuts him off abruptly; hands held up in front of him like he's trying to ward off an attack, eyes wide "No chick-flick moments, deal?" Sam stared at him wide eyed for a moment, and then a smile curls the edges of his mouth; Dean can see the dimples even beneath the shadow of hair

"Alright," he whispered, fingers finally stilling against the bottle, although the sticker is already a shredded mass around the glass "Jerk." And Dean smirks, a surge of happiness welling, the word something he'd been missing for fourteen years.

Hell, he'd missed everything of Sam for that long.

"Bitch," he said throatily, emotional, trying to cover it up by clearing his throat and moving from the counter to the bed, sitting down on the mattress and staring at Sam. Though he knows Sam doesn't buy it, the dimples even more prominent as Sam grins at him, the younger mans head rising to watch his brother move across the room.

"Hey, how'd you know I was in here?" Dean asked after several moments of strained silence, and Sam cocked his head to the side, staring at his brother quizzically

"I heard the car pull in," he explained "I watched you come in here." Dean's gut twisted painfully at the admission. He had not checked at the reception for Sam because he had not expected to see his brother in such a run down place as this after he'd originally found him in that much classier motel the night before, Sam had been right under his nose and he'd almost missed him because he'd not been paying attention.

The bed dipped, and Dean turned his head to see that Sam had come and sat beside him, his brother had opened his beer by now, and was quietly sipping at it.

_Sammy_, Dean thought _Don't be such a girl…_

"How'd you know where I was?" Sam asked, "I mean, last night? How'd you find me?"

"Sam," Dean croaked now, did nothing to hide the emotion in his voice, and he had to pause for a moment to set down the beer that was wobbling dangerously in his shaky grasp "I looked for you. We looked for you. As soon as we found out that CPS had taken you I roped in Bobby, Josh, the lot of them, we've been looking for you ever since." He winced inwardly at Sam's blankness when he named the hunters they'd been so close to as children, his brother had been too young then, probably remembered very little of those men who had helped Dean so much the last fourteen years…

"What about dad?" Sam asked quietly, he'd turned his head away from Dean again, but he'd seen the shine of tears, the look of broken happiness at Dean's admission that he'd never stopped looking, and he swallowed heavily.

"I don't know," he admitted "I haven't seen dad since that night. Haven't seen him since the police left with him." Sam frowned, nodded, once again toying with the shredded label.

"I never stopped looking Sam," Dean repeated, as Sam got up "I swear to God I tore the country apart looking for you."

"I know," the admission was quiet; Sam's head ducking as he set the beer on the table "I never gave up on that." His head rose, there was a brief flash of the dimples that Dean had missed for fourteen years, and then he stepped into the bathroom.


	7. Chapter 7

7

_The car ride had been silent, Dean silent and shivering in the passenger seat, half-buried in Jim's long overcoat, the preacher glanced at the boy as often as he was able to, as often as it was safe to whilst driving in the driving mess of rain, and the worried look that was painted on to his features only deepened with each glance to the child._

_All of the lights of the house were on, a beacon in the dark of the storm, and as the car pulled into the drive the front door was flung open, and Angela Bevan burst from the building, ignorant to the fact that she was merely wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown that was quickly becoming sodden in the rain, she ran to the car, kicking up a large puddle of water as she stopped beside the passenger door, and swept Dean into a hug as soon as he stepped from the vehicle. _

_"Thank God Dean!" she blurted, releasing the boy from her hug, but keeping a hand tightly on his shoulder, as if he would suddenly bolt from her "Thank you, Jim!"_

_"Not at all, my dear," the man replied, he had crossed the distance from one side of the car to the other, and started to shepherd the sodden woman and silent boy towards the house "Let's go in and dry off, and then we need to talk."_

There was a brief moment of panic when Dean awoke. His mind telling him before he'd truly awoken that there was someone else in the motel room with him. His fingers crept beneath the pillows he lay on, and his body tensed when his fingers came up empty. The knife was nowhere to be found.

"Dean?" the single word calmed him straight away, his hand pulling back from under the pillows, and his eyes flying open

"Sammy?"

"Sam," his brother's correction may him grin, and he pushed himself up in the bed, stretching his arms above his head. The rich scent of coffee hit him, and he turned his head to see Sam stood by the door, two cardboard coffee cups and a paper bag held awkwardly in his grasp.

"Coffee?" Dean asked, blinking blearily. Sam nodded, set the coffee into Dean's hand, and set the other cup onto the table so he could dig in his pocket.

"There's sweeteners and milk if you want," he said, tugging the small containers free "I didn't know what you..." he trailed off, eyebrow raised in amusement as his brother knocked back the cup of scalding black coffee.

"This is good," Dean told him, eyes fixed on the paper bag still held in Sam's hand. The younger threw it onto the bed, and Dean scrabbled to open it, eyes widening in delight to find it contained a number of warm donuts, and he happily tore into them.

"Man this is great," he mumbled round a mouthful of sugary dough. He held the bag out to Sam, standing nervously beside the table, and shook his hand "You want some?" he asked, words muffled by food.

"I'm good" Sam said with a shake of his head, smiling slightly. He was still standing by the table, the coffee cup now in his hand, fingers playing with the plastic lid, but when Dean raised an eyebrow and stared at him he lowered himself into a seat.

"Did you sleep?" Dean asked, crumpling the paper bag and tossing it in the direction of the bin. He was still staring at Sam, noticing now his pale face and the dark circles under his eyes.

"A bit," Sam told him, shrugging with one shoulder, head ducking, like he was embarrassed with the attention Dean was giving him

"Yeah, well, you look like crap." A brief flash of dimples, and the tired eyes met Dean's

"Thanks."

"I do my best," Dean told him, rising to his feet as he drained the last of his coffee and threw the cup in the bins general direction, "I'm gonna take a shower." He moved to the bathroom, throwing out a hand as Sam began to rise, and before he closed the bathroom door he raised an eyebrow, silently telling his brother not to leave whilst he was showering.

He stepped out again half an hour later in a cloud of steam, War Pigs playing from his phone, and he walked over and lifted his phone from the bedside table, flipping it open immediately.

"Winchester," he said shortly, throwing a quick look to Sam. His brother was still sat where he'd left him, head ducked towards his chest, and Dean smiled that his brother was sleeping in such an awkward way, clamping down the worry of how tired Sam had to be to sleep now, and that he'd slept through the ringing phone.

"Dean?" Bobby's voice, and Dean smiled as he routed through his duffel for some clean underwear "You got him yet?" A quick glance to his sleeping brother, and a small nod to himself

"Yeah," he said, "I got him."

"Well thank God for that," Bobby breathed "You keep a hold on him, you hear?"

"Not letting him out of my sight," Dean replied, glancing against to Sam and then stepping out of the room, bringing the door to behind him. "We were lucky Bobby, it almost got to him first."

"It?" Bobby questioned, "You mean the Demon?" a quick flurry of curses, Dean could practically see Bobby pacing his yard in anger "He's alright?"

"I think so," Dean admitted, "The apartment Sam had in Palo Alto's burnt through, I don't think he knows what did it. We never told him about the hunt before…" he trailed off, ran a hand through his hair and then glanced around the empty lot "He had a girlfriend Bobby," he said quietly "It got to her. Burnt her up on the ceiling," his grip tightened on the phone, and he released a shaky breath "Killed her like mom."

"Shit," Bobby swore "Shit. You boys get somewhere safe, and quick, you hear? If it was at Stanford…"

"It's after Sam," Dean finished, nausea welling at the thought "We'll head your way. Stay with you or Jim until Sam's ready, until I've explained everything to him."

"You just be careful, Dean," Bobby told him "Watch out for yourselves."

"We will," it was a promise, Dean would keep an eye on Sam, he wasn't going to loose him again, not now "Bye Bobby." He heard the murmured response as he shut his phone off, and returned to the room.

The harsh pants of Sam's breathing had him grabbing the knife he'd left out as soon as he stepped in, and he darted looks around the room. He couldn't find any threats, but that didn't stop him from being wary as he stepped up to his brother.

"Sam?" he questioned "Sam?" a soft murmur and a whimper left his brother, and Dean crouched beside him to see he was still asleep. A nightmare. Not that Dean blamed him, he had no doubt that Sam had seen his girlfriend die, could not blame his brother for his nightmare.

"Sam," he called, setting the knife on the table and reaching out to take his brothers shoulder "Sam? Sammy!" he shook him briskly, lurched backwards as Sam woke up with a yell, arm lashing out, and the sudden movement sent Sam tumbling out of the chair and onto the floor.

"You alright man?" Dean asked once he'd gotten over his initial shock. He ran a critical eye over his brother, but Sam didn't seem injured, just sat there in a tumble of limbs blinking blearily. "Sam?" the call brought his brother back, and Sam flushed red, dropping his head in embarrassment

"Sorry," he whispered, climbing awkwardly to his feet. Dean followed suit, and clapped a hand onto his shoulder

"No worries," Dean told him, flashed him a quick smile "Come on. Shower and change. We're heading out."

* * *

There will be an update up on Christmas Eve, I promise. In the mean-time, Happy Holidays!


	8. Chapter 8

8

_The coat had been replaced with a heavy blanket, and Angela set a hot chocolate before him whilst she attacked his hair with a towel. Dean sat silently throughout, avoiding eye contact with both adults, clutching his untouched drink until it went cold beneath his hands._

_It was then that Jim moved, pulling the mug easily from the boy's hands and gently raising his head so that eyes met, and Jim's face matched Dean's down-crested one._

_"I know you're upset Dean," he told him "I know you want to see Sam. But we don't know where he is. You can't keep running away to try and find him." Dean said nothing, ducked his head away from Jim's, stared down at his hands, and he heard Jim's chair scrape back, and the man crouched down at Dean's side._

_"We'll find him, Dean," he said, the tone of promise in his voice "Caleb, Bobby and Josh, they're all gonna look for him. Sam and your daddy. We'll find them both. You've just got to stay here, okay?"_

Dean had packed away everything by the time Sam had emerged from the bathroom. In all honesty, he had simply thrown the knife and his dirty clothes into the pack and spent the next twenty minutes sat on the bed watching television, but when Sam made his steam-shrouded appearance he had turned off the set and stretched as he rose to his feet.

"Come on," he said grabbing his duffel and holding the door open for Sam.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked, and Dean didn't answer for a moment, let his eyes roam the empty lot as he dug in his pocket for his keys

"Got a friend up North we're gonna stay with for a while," he said, the less said out loud the better. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sam; it was just that with the possibility that The Demon nearby, he'd rather keep their movements quiet. The brothers crossed the lot together, and Dean froze as Sam stopped beside a car.

It was, he realised, the dark green Camaro the young man from the motel had mentioned the other day. The car was obviously quite old, had seen better days, and as the man had said, had a dent in the side.

Although the dent was hardly a truth, the metal practically caved and buckled across most of the door, and Dean wondered how it had happened, and more importantly, if Sam had been driving when it had happened.

"Oh, hell no!" he shouted, making Sam jump and turn, his fingers leaving the door handle they'd just grabbed as though it was red hot, his face showing the perfect wide-eyed expression of a scolded child.

"There is no way you're driving that!" Dean shouted, his keys were out of his pocket as Sam raised an eyebrow; jangling the set before his brother's eyes "No brother of mine is going to drive in something like that! I have a reputation!" Sam grinned, slowly nodded, opened the door of the car and pulled out a small holdall from under the passenger seat.

"Where to then?" he asked quietly, and Dean smirked, led the way over to where his baby was parked. He ran a hand affectionately over the bonnet, glancing at Sam as he did so, noting the far off look on his face.

"You okay?" he asked, suddenly aware that made the car had sentimental value for his brother. Perhaps the piece of junk was something that was his and his girlfriends, perhaps it held memories…

"I… this is familiar. The car I mean," Sam stammered back, he reached out a hand tentatively, ghosted his fingers over the metal, a small smile breaking over his face, and Dean grinned happily.

"Yeah, well it should," Dean told him, throwing open the drivers door "We spent a hell of a lot of time in here as kids." He dropped onto the seat, stared over at the passenger door until Sam opened it and climbed in, throwing his holdall onto the back seat, and then the two doors were slammed closed, and they were soon pulling away from the motel, driving swiftly along the road.

They drove in silence for just over half an hour before Dean's fingers started drumming on the steering wheel, and he threw a quick glance to Sam, who sat fidgeting with his head down. The sight of his brother with his head ducked once more drew a heavy sigh from Dean, and he felt Sam's eyes suddenly fix on him.

"Glove box," he ground out "There's two boxes in there. The larger one." Sam complied, quickly opening the compartment and sliding the box onto his lap. A piece of card fell out with the box, and he absently turned it over.

"Dean," he whispered, and his brother's eyes moved shortly to him, to the card in his hand, and he breathed out a curse, pulled the car over onto the hard shoulder.

"Sammy…" he started, stopped, thinking on what to say.

"How'd you get this?" Sam asked, his hands were shaking, the photograph held in them, the charred, slightly creased photograph of him and Jess held between stiffening fingers.

"I went to Stanford," Dean told him "Went to your apartment. Hell Sam, I thought that the fire had…" he broke off, swallowed hard, "I thought you were dead. And when I saw the photo, I thought I'd at least have something to show me what you looked like. And then when one of your friends told me you were still alive, I've been using it to find you when I've reached motels." He breathed deeply, cursed himself inwardly. How many chick-flick moments had occurred since he'd found his brother?

Sam made no noise, gave no response to Dean's explanation, and then slowly he returned the photo to the glove box, pushed it closed, and then opened the box he'd pulled out

"What?" Dean asked as Sam snorted in amusement

"You have got to update your cassette collection," Sam told him

"Why?"

"Well firstly, Dean, they're cassettes," there was a smirk on Sam's face as he pulled out a tape, one that Dean found himself echoing "Secondly, AC/DC? Metallica? It's like the greatest hits of Mullet Rock." Dean snorted, reached over and pulled the tape from his brother's hands, pushing it into the tape deck and then pulling back onto the road.

"House rules Sammy," he stated as he cranked up the music "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake-hole." He threw Sam a grin, watched his brother return it, and they sped down the road with Metallica blasting from the speakers.

* * *

Happy Holidays everyone!


	9. Chapter 9

9

_Dean had woken early, but stayed in bed for as long as possible, listening as the Bevan's rose and started their day. There had been a light knock on his door which he had ignored, and he only rose when the sun streaming through the tiny gap in the curtains became too annoying, and the smell of baking became to irresistible._

_He had quietly changed, and had walked down to the kitchen, a nervous pit growing in his stomach, and he'd merely ducked his head when Angela smiled at him as he entered the kitchen._

_"Happy birthday, sweetie," she had greeted him, setting a plate of pancakes before him, and he had started on them with one eye on the plate, and the other eye on the small pile of envelopes and parcels that sat on the table._

_"They won't open themselves," Marcus had commented from where he was writing in his journal with a smile, and Dean had flashed him a quick smirk before reaching for the piles._

_His heart dropped after opening the cards. Not one had been from Sam._

Dean drove solidly until four that afternoon, and when Sam's head began to drop he found the first motel he could and pulled in.

"I'll get us some rooms," Dean said as Sam blinked awake at the sudden lack of noise within the car.

"Dean?" he asked, and then reached for his jeans pocket, dragged his wallet from the denim "Let me pay for my room."

"Not gonna happen Sam," Dean told him "Oldest decides, and I've decided I'll pay." He pushed the car door open, and ducked his head back in once he'd climbed out "You just wait here 'til I get back." The slamming door made Sam jump and effectively woke him completely.

Dean wandered back five minutes later, carefully returning the credit card of a Mister 'Axel Rose' to his wallet and then the pocket of his jeans. He grinned at Sam, the younger standing awkwardly by the car, and fished the room keys from his pocket.

"Five and six," he told Sam, trying to keep his face expressionless. He was, to be honest, annoyed that they were going to be sleeping with the separating partition of a solid wall between them, his mind screaming for the old tradition of protecting his brother constantly, but knew that perhaps Sam would prefer it this way. His younger brother was unsure of Dean; he could tell by the constantly awkward stance, the small glances in his direction, the tensing of muscles every time Dean moved unexpectedly or 'wrongly'. He didn't want to scare his brother, didn't want Sam to run from him again. Especially after he'd only just found him. He would fight against every command his system threw at him if it meant that Sam would stay.

"Thanks," Sam said, reaching out and taking a key – room six – from Dean. He gave the elder a small smile, pulled open the back door of the car to retrieve his hold all. His t-shirt and jacket shifted with the move, and Dean saw a long, ugly looking scar stretch from Sam's hip and around nearly to his spine, but swallowed back the questions, shifted his eyes away from the old wound that seemed to be ingrained to his eyeballs. The questions could wait, but he promised himself that he'd find out how Sam had received that scar. Knew that it would just anger him if he leant that its cause was something that could have been avoided.

Especially if he'd been there to look after Sam.

"Dean?" he didn't realise that he was spacing out until he heard Sam's tentative question, and snapped back to reality to give his brother a grin as he moved to the boot of the car, opened it far enough to pull out his duffel and swing it over his shoulder, and then locked the Impala up, his grin forcefully widening as he passed his brother as he moved to his room.

"Come on Sammy," he called over his shoulder.

"Sam!" he heard his brother shout after him "No-one's called me Sammy since I was eight." The words made Dean's grin become less fixed, more real. Sammy was the affectionate that their family used. If Sam hadn't had anyone call him that since he was eight, then he'd have let no one call him that after he was taken away. It was a family name, a proof of Winchester identity that Sam reserved only for his family to say.

"Whatever, princess," Dean shot back, putting his key in his door. He glanced over to Sam, thinking the three metres between the doors couldn't be an any larger distance, tried to force his brain into realising it was nothing to the distances that ad separated them or fourteen years. Sam gave him a dimple crazed grin, and both ducked into their rooms at the same time.

It was an hour later that Dean, freshly showered and hungry, left his room and crossed that short distance to Sam's. The wait that followed on from his knocking on the door allowed him to scope out the surroundings, the fact that the demon had attacked Sam's apartment weighed heavily on his mind and made him even more cautious.

"Dean?" Sam asked, as he pulled the door open. Dean's smirk widened slightly when he took in his brother's dishevelled state, his eyes were bloodshot and his hair sticking up to the extent that it was obvious that he'd just gotten up from his bed.

"Did I wake you?" Dean's question held more mirth than concern, and Sam narrowed his eyes at him, and then shot a look back into the room.

"No…" Sam said quietly, blinking back the sleep, and then he focussed on Dean "What's up?"

"You hungry?" Dean asked, "I'm hungry. Want some food?" Sam nodded, closed the door, leaving Dean to stare at it for several moments before it crept open again, revealing Sam, who had changed his clothes and brushed his hair flat, though his eyes still looked bloodshot. Dean nodded his apparent confirmation that his brother looked at least partially suitable, and then led the way to the diner across the road from the motel.

Dean glanced over to Sam as they sat in a booth, taking note of the paleness of his brother once again. The kid looked exhausted, he decided, and wondered how much sleep he'd had the past few days. Sam had looked tired when he'd first found him, but now he looked like death warmed over, practically sheet white with dark circles stark beneath his eyes, and Dean could not help but notice the nervous glances Sam committed to the diner every few moments.

"You okay man?" Dean asked, receiving a shaky nod, and another glance around.

"Didn't sleep too well," Sam muttered, scrubbing blearily at his forehead, trying to erase a suspected headache. Dean was prevented from answering by the arrival of a waitress, and before Sam could say anything he had placed an order for two coffees and a fry-up before turning his attention to his brother.

"What are you eating?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, it hurt that he no longer knew the things his brother liked.

"Just toast please," he told the girl "And some sausages," he added when he caught Dean's wide-eyed stare, and as the girl walked away he gave his brother a short smile, and then leaned against the table, head propped up against his hands.

"How far is it Dean?" he asked, "To where your friend is?" Dean winced inwardly, they were as much Sam's friends as they were his, it was just the kid was too young the last time he'd seen them to probably remember this fact.

"Five, six hours maybe," he replied, "But we're not going anywhere today."

"What? Why-"

"No way Sam," Dean cut in "You're exhausted, we're sticking here today, let you catch up on whatever sleep you've missed, you're too tall to sleep comfortably in the car. We'll go tomorrow."

"I'll be-"

"We'll wait until tomorrow," Dean cut in again firmly "Besides, they're likely to give me hell if I drive up with you looking like hell." He smirked slightly, he was not sure whether to take Sam to Bobby's or Pastor Jim's yet, but which ever he chose he'd have hell given to him if he dragged Sam in looking like death warmed over.

To his credit, Sam didn't argue any further, just sighed and pushed back into the seat, arms crossed across his chest as he pouted at his brother, glaring from beneath his bangs. Dean merely snorted at the silent tantrum that made his brother look about eight once again, and snagged a newspaper off the vacant table closest to them. He only looked up when he heard the click of the waitresses heels approach, gave her a flirty grin and then looked over to see his brother jerk awake as the plates were set down loudly before them, telling himself that his decision to wait a day before moving any further was the right choice.

"Eat," he ordered his brother, dropping the paper back onto the empty table "You can sleep again afterwards." Sam gave him a muted glare, murmured something about not being tired as he started on his toast, and Dean merely snorted into his fry-up.

Once they had eaten, and Dean had again stared Sam down from paying, the elder brother led the way back to the rooms, and then had given Sam a look, told him to get some rest and had then gone to his own room. The television was turned on, but not before he heard the sound of a computer starting up in the room next door, and he allowed himself a smirk. He hadn't expected Sam to listen to him, and was not disappointed.


	10. Chapter 10

10

_It was the weekend following Dean's thirteenth birthday, and with each day that had passed between the date of his thirteenth and the Friday, with each day that a birthday card did not appear from his younger brother, he had sank further and further into a sulky depression, until Marcus had met him after school on the Friday in his battered truck, two bulging duffels in the bed, and drove out of town and for several hours west, speaking carefully as they went and occasionally glancing at the quiet teenager sat beside him to be sure Dean was listening._

_And now it was Saturday morning, though only just, having edged into those early hours that it would probably been considered by most as Friday night still, but Dean was stood in the woods, bright-eyed ad alert with a cautious excitement that marked his very first hunt, and he watched the darkness around him carefully, hands comfortably gripping his sawn-off. And it was solely his, a birthday present from Marcus that marked the gun as Dean's and though he had been practising with guns with his father ever since he was around eight or nine, the weapons had always notably been John's, and the gun he held now felt different, solely because it was __**his**__._

_He shivered now in the late January cold, again casting an eye at the darkness, trying to judge where Marcus was even though the man had faded into the black some time earlier, and stamped his feet in the snow in a futile effort to warm himself. He was cold, though he wouldn't complain to anyone, the hunt much more thrilling than the prospect of a warm bed at that moment._

_His body tensed as a noise broke the silent night, a low drawn out howl that made him shiver from more than just the cold, and checking his gun even though he already knew it was loaded, he turned his eyes to the tracks that were just on the edge of his vision in the night, and quietly began to follow them._

Dean woke up to the dark, the only light in the room coming from the flickering images of the old black and white horror film that was playing on the television. A quick glance at the clock revealed it to be closing in on midnight, and with a stretch Dean was up and padding to the bathroom.

He wandered back into the main room as the scream of the on-screen victim filled the air, and with a wince he crossed the room and knocked off the television.

A moan occupied the silence.

Dean froze immediately, and as a second moan reached his ears he recognised it to have come through the wall that separated his room from Sam's. It took him only a moment to guess that the sounds weren't coming from the television Sam had in his room, instantly surmising that it was instead his brother making the noise.

For a moment Dean debated with himself whether or not to go over to Sam's room, but in the end moved for his bed. If his brother was suffering a nightmare, then he'd probably be embarrassed that Dean had caught him; they weren't close enough for Dean to barge into the room. And if he did, and found that it wasn't that Sam was having a nightmare, but had gone out at some point and picked up a girl…

Dean snorted at the idea, a smirk spreading over his face as he fumbled off his boots and socks and lay down on the bed, fingers doing a brief check that his knife was where it should be, and then he settled down to sleep.

Sam gave a half-yell, muffled by the wall, and something in his brother's room smashed, and in that instant Dean was up and out of bed, knife in hand, grabbing up his gun as he passed the kitchen counter and stalked out into the night.

Sam snapped awake with a gasp, wide eyes staring up at the ceiling, seeing what haunted his dreams persistently. Through the wall behind him he could hear muffled sounds of a television, surmised that Dean was watching something, and with a sigh and a quick scrub at his eyes he rolled over and shut his eyes, trying to block out the sounds of the show and of footsteps outside of his room.

He was just dozing off when a draught blew up against his neck, and he shivered, trying to remember why he'd opened a window, and pulling up the sheets to cover the bare patch on his neck, too lazy and otherwise too warm to want to move and shut the window. The draught came again, somehow managing to creep through the sheets and left Sam with goosebumps, every hair standing on end as he shivered down into the bed, slamming his eyes tight and hoping that he'd just fall back to sleep.

His eyes slammed open again when he remembered that when he'd tried to open the window earlier, it had been stuck fast, nailed closed.

His body tensed for a moment before he forced himself to relax, and carefully rolled over so that he was facing the door into the room, attempting to make it look as though he was merely moving in his sleep. He took in his surroundings, noting that the window was indeed shut, as was the door. Maybe it was possible that the draught had come in through a gap that he couldn't see?

He entertained that thought for a moment, decided it was the most satisfying answer, and starting to drift off again, when a cold touch landed on his foot.

He opened his mouth to scream, and felt his body tense and lock, his chest freezing up on him until the scream died and came out as a moan. The touch on his foot altered, became a hold that tightened around his ankle for a moment, and another touch landed on his knee, cold even through his sweats.

He tried to force his body to obey him and move, only resulting in sharp stabs of pain erupting from every muscle and another moan to erupt from his mouth. The grip on his ankle left suddenly, although the touch at his knee persisted, and every attempt that Sam made to move and see his attacker was halted by his frozen body.

A hand lowered onto his side, travelled up until it was gripping his shoulder, and he heard a female scream through the wall, and another moan escaped his throat as the hands rolled him onto his back, leaving him to once again stare up at the ceiling, allowed for his mind to supply the images of Jess pinned there, of his girlfriend bleeding and burning.

The hands at his body left, and the removal of the cold returned his attention to the room itself. There was total silence. Not even the television show that Dean was watching could be heard any more. Sam could only hear the blood pumping within his own head.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a shadow move, but it was gone by the time his eyes had focussed on the spot.

The bed groaned and dipped slightly as if it had gained a new weight, and then hands grabbed at his shoulders, forced him down hard into the mattress, forcing another moan from his paralysed lungs, making him suddenly very much aware to the fact that he wasn't drawing in full breaths of air and then his eyes snapped around to see the face of a woman, skin grey and lax, empty socketed eyes and lips drawn back to expose a mouth of blackened gums and sharp, yellowing teeth.

His breath left him completely at the sight, but it also knocked in a sense of self preservation, and he tried harder than ever to get his body to co-operate and throw the wasted form off him as sharp knees dug against his hip and stomach, as the grip on his shoulders slid around so that thin hands met at his neck and tightened, and the woman's mouth twisted into a malicious grin.

Sharp pain erupted through his left arm and spread until it reached his shoulder, and he would have yelled in agony had he the air to breath, but he heard something fall and shatter, and assumed that he'd knocked the lamp from the bedside table. He tried to force his arm around to ward off the woman, but it refused to obey him completely now, from the corner of his eye his could see his fingers spasming, send more pain shooting continuously through his limb, and above him the woman hissed and tightened her grip on his neck.

A loud bang echoed though the room, and before he had time to register that it was the sound of the door being thrown open two shots were fired off, lighting the room briefly and throwing the woman into an even more terrifying light that made her flicker, body seeming to lighten at those moments, and she twisted her head to face the door, hissed angrily at the person stood there, Sam's gaze moved towards the door as well as the woman's hands tightened and his sight began to blacken

"Dea…" he managed to whimper, and his brother fired off three more shots, and with a shriek the woman's weight was completely removed from his body, her hands gone from his throat, leaving him to cough and choke down air.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean face appeared in his vision, and his brother's hands landed reassuringly on his shoulder, rolled him onto his side and rubbed at his back as he tried to get his breathing under control.

"Holy shit," Sam croaked into the silence, his body was slowly unfreezing, allowing him to once again speak and breath, and his fingers trembled as pins and needles shot through them. Dean hands left his back and shoulder at his words, and his brother appeared in his vision, looking anxiously at him.

"You alright?" he asked, fingers ghosting against Sam's throat where the woman's hands had been, a frown settling onto his face as his eyes turned hard.

"Where is she?" Sam asked, wheezing in several breaths and he managed to pull an arm in to massage at his chest.

"Gone, for now," Dean replied, though his gaze roamed the room for a moment before returning to focus Sam "We are so getting a double room from now on."

"Gone?" Sam replied, coughed against a frozen breath "What? How? You shot her!" Dean gaze turned harder, and he climbed to his feet, leaving Sam's vision.

He returned when Sam had gathered enough strength to roll onto his back, and help his brother to sit up against the beds headboard, pushed a glass of water into Sam's hand and then picked up his gun from the small table that also held Sam's laptop, returning to sit at the end of the bed.

"I keep forgetting that dad never told you," he said quietly as he began to clean and reload his gun, his glanced quickly at Sam, who stared back wide-eyed, and then his attention returned to the gun.

"Dad used to go out a lot, leave me in charge of you," he explained, "He was looking for who had killed mum. What had killed mum." his amendment was soft, so that Sam had barely caught it, if he hadn't seen Dean's mouth move and the expression in his eyes change he would have said he'd imagined it

"Dad had started to hunt not long after mum had died, looking for information on what had killed mum, helping people along the way. He'd leave us with people whenever he could, keep us in the car or a motel room when he could," he swallowed hard "He's never found the demon."

"Dean-" Sam started, stopped. His brother was talking about demons and cleaning his gun as though this was every day life, and if he wasn't still sluggish and struggling with getting air down his abused throat he'd have moved away from Dean, probably left the motel for that matter.

"Shut up Sam," Dean replied, "Just believe me on this. Dad, he… we hunt demons, ghosts, things that go bump in the night, the supernatural, all right? It's like… the family business. Some people own garages, we hunt the thing in the dark."

"And her?" Sam asked, hoping Dean would understand. His brother sighed, the gun was held loosely in his hand as he cast a look once again around the room, and then he turned his head to look at Sam.

"Night hag," Dean replied swiftly

"That's a phenomena," Sam told him, and Dean smirked and quirked and eyebrow.

"And that's a lie," he retorted, rising from the bed and walking to the door, closing it carefully, although the lock was broken and the door swung open again, forcing Dean to stand against it. "She's a ghost. Gets murdered in her room one night, looks out for revenge, so she attacks whoever winds up in the room she was killed in. Paralyses them when she touches them, then kills them off unless she's disturbed. This one must have been really angry if she didn't stop when she realised you were awake or when I came into the room. People who usually survive it will mark it down to the 'phenomena', call it a waking nightmare." He snorted, and then nodded at his brother "Can you move now?"

"Yeah, but-" he stopped, lunged to catch the car keys that Dean had thrown at him, and then stared open mouthed at his brother.

"Pack up and wait for me in the car. I'll be along in a minute." Dean ordered, and then strode from the room.

* * *

Sorry it's late. I had promised angel_death_dealer I'd post this on the 9th, and then had to pack everything to come back to university, so it got put on the back burner. No update this Friday sorry, need to revise for exams. Next chapter will be up on the 23rd.

Had to change the summary slightly as well, so that it would make sense with the lines within chapter 4


	11. Chapter 11

11

_He'd followed the tracks for an hour, getting more and more tense with each step he took further into the woods, the unnerving unnatural silence that had followed the howl - in which nothing moved or called out into the suddenly still air – caused for him to become more and more nervous, so that he was jumping at each of his own footfalls, and had almost fired his gun when he'd stood on a twig, the sharp crack echoing in the silence._

_The tracks led him surprisingly to a wide track that broke the trees, He paused for a moment, studying the tracks that mingled with those of several other animals, eyes falling upon tyre treads, wondering why Marcus hadn't brought the truck here instead of the small lay-by he had pulled them into._

_The low howl broke the air again, crackling through the silence and making Dean shiver and causing the hair at his nape to stand on end. Slowly he turned his body, facing the track that stretched off into the dark, disappearing around a bend of shadowed trees._

_To his left a twig cracked, and something rustled in the bushes that lined that part of the track. Dean raised his gun, eyes watching the bushes carefully, finger curving round to cock the gun._

_Marcus stepped out of the bushes, gun trained on Dean, and both studied each other for a moment before guns were lowered, and Marcus walked over to Dean, drawing the boy to his side in a one-armed hug, eyes judging the same tracks that Dean had looked at before raising his eyes, looking towards the bend that Dean faced._

_"Keep your gun ready," the man ordered briskly, leading the way down the track._

Sam was sat quietly in the car when Dean slammed the door to his own room, moved to make a quick cursory check of Sam's and then moved to the Impala. The set of the older brother's jaw showed his irritation and anger, and Sam ducked his head slightly, one hand going up to massage at his aching throat.

Dean saw the movement, and his agitation grew. He was annoyed with himself at what had happened. How long had Sam been trying to fight against the night hag? He'd always gone by the vain belief that as soon as he found Sam everything would be all right, the attack on his brother was just a painful jerk to reality.

Silently, he started the car, turning up the volume of the music as they pulled away from the motel. It would be a long night, he refused to stop until they got to Jim's or Bobby's, and the loud music was a guarantee that he'd stay awake. He chanced a quick glance to Sam, who was staring out of the passenger window, and winced when he saw the rising bruises that ringed his brother's neck, made a mental note to keep an eye on Sam, the last thing they needed was for the younger Winchester's throat to swell shut.

He reached over to Sam's side, turning his complete attention to the road when he saw his brother flinch back from his hand, but continued to reach forwards, opening the glove compartment and searching sightlessly until his fingers brushed against and curled around the plastic bottle he knew was in there. He pushed it into Sam's hands and then turned to again take the wheel properly.

"There's some Tylenol in the compartment somewhere," he said, nodding his head at the still open glove box. Sam stared at him for a moment, and then slowly reached forwards and searched round, eventually straightening with the small bottle in his hand. He mumbled something that if heard over the music was probably a thank you, Dean nodded his affirmation anyway as Sam knocked back some of the tablets, and then he glanced back at the younger Winchester.

"Get some sleep," he ordered briskly "It'll be about five hours before we get anywhere. You look like crap." Sam opened his mouth, as though to give a reply, but then smirked, and quickly fell asleep.

Dean smirked to himself, throwing his brother a glance every few minutes as he drove along the road.

They'd travelled a good three hours before Sam's head jerked harshly, and a murmur escaped his mouth, Dean glanced at him, but Sam stilled again and his gain returned to the road, Sam whimpered, head lolling down to his chin, causing Dean to again glance carefully at his brother, watching him with one eye carefully for a minute again focusing on the road when Sam made no other moves.

He almost jerked the car into roadside hedge when Sam shouted and his arm shot out to catch Dean across the stomach.

"Hell Sam!" he shouted, pulling the car to the side. His eyes widened, throwing an arm up to block Sam's arm as it again shot out in an attempt to catch Dean across the chest. Sam's head swung harshly, another yell leaping from his throat, though Dean could see that Sam was still very much asleep. He frowned at this, reaching out and turning down the thumping rock tunes, and stopped Sam from again hitting him in his sleep, grabbing his wrist carefully and catching the other one up as it jerked out towards the windscreen. He swore then when Sam's entire body jerked forwards, another shout bursting around the car.

"Sam!" he said loudly "Sammy! Hell Sam, wake up!" His brother's body jerked forwards again, causing Dean to lose a hold on the wrist furthest from him, and Sam's eyes snapped open, his chest heaving with pulling in painful breaths.

"I'm 'wake," Sam muttered hoarsely and with a wince, reminding Dean of his abused throat. His gaze was solidly focused on the dark road before them, a rough cough breaking from his chest.

"So what'd you dream about?" Dean asked, watching his brother carefully

"Lollipops and candy canes," he replied, carefully extracting his wrist from his brother's hand, Dean smirked at the response, shifted back behind the steering wheel, though continued to watch Sam carefully, "So where are we?"

"Somewhere in Iowa," Dean told him, starting the car up again and begin to drive along the road again "We've got another two hours or so. You wanna-"

"I'm not sleeping again," Sam said quietly, shaking his head vehemently. He reached down, searching at his feet until he straightened with the bottle of water in his hands, he shot Dean a quiet smile and turned his head so that he could stare out of the passenger window, refusing to meet Dean's eyes as they drove on.


	12. Chapter 12

12

_The track wound deeper into the forest for half an hour before it opened into a fairly large clearing with a large house stood in the centre. Dean's eyes were immediately on the house, taking in the dilapidated state and broken windows before deciding that it was highly unlikely that anyone was currently within the building, a glance at Marcus and a nod from the man showed that he agreed with Dean's suspicions, and the two turned their focus on the tracks they'd been following, trying to decipher them from within the churned mud._

_The sound of movement in the trees to their right made both freeze, and the shotguns were brought up and aimed as something moved within the shadows. A flash of yellow eyes made Dean gasp, and Marcus glanced at the teenager, though Dean had not removed his gaze from the trees, and the gun he held was steady, and Marcus returned his gaze to the trees as the creature they'd been searching for stepped out into the clearing._

_It was, by appearance, a large black horse, only the yellow eyes marked it as a supernatural being, and it watched the two hunters cautiously, to the same standard as any animal would. Marcus had done close research on it though, had shared with Dean his thoughts on the creature being a puca, a particularly nasty one that had killed a number of its victims, and was probably the cause for the disappearances of the rest, all mainly students and kids, venturing into the woods for at night for dares or parties, though it had also made off with several hikers._

_Marcus' finger curled around the trigger of the shotgun, and the puca's stance changed, becoming more hostile as it hissed, and muscles bunched as it leapt forwards._

_Two loud gun shots echoed across the clearing, and the puca jerked mid-leap to fall in a crumpled mass on the ground, Marcus stepped forwards, and then threw out an arm to halt Dean as the horse-like creatures head suddenly snapped up, and an unnatural, almost human scream issued from its mouth before it collapsed to the ground again._

_The two hunters stepped forwards now, and Marcus lightly toed the creature's neck, grunting his approval that it was dead, and he dug in his pockets to find salt and lighter fluid, and then handed a box of matches to Dean, snorting quietly at the boy's smile as he took the offered box._

_The fire went up quickly, and both stepped back to watch it for a moment, and Marcus turned to congratulate Dean on his first successful hunt and suggest returning to the truck and going home when the loud bang of wood hitting wood startled him, and the shout made him sin around to the supposedly empty house._

It was rounding up to five thirty when Dean turned the car into the driveway, giving Sam a quick grin as the younger Winchester, who had been dozing despite his prior comments on not falling asleep, sat up with rapt attention, eyes wandering curiously over the piles of scrap metal that loomed everywhere, drinking in their surroundings.

Dean pulled the car to a stop just as a large dog lunged to its feet from where it had been hidden in the bed of a rusting pick-up, barking furiously at the car, and Dean leapt swiftly from the vehicle to waylay the animal before it could jump onto the bonnet of the Impala.

Sam laughed as Dean fielded the dog, which realised that they weren't a threat and was leaping at Dean to land licks on his face between excited barks, and slowly climbed from the car, stretching out sore muscles and almost falling over as the dog barrelled at him.

He froze when he heard the distinctive cocking of a gun, head turning towards where a small house was wedged within the piles of metal, eyes focussed on the big man wearing a truckers hat who was pointing a very lethal looking gun at them. For a minute he thought of Dean and his gun, but there was no way that Dean could do as much damage with his pistol as that man could do with his shotgun. The dog sensed the Sam's concentration diverting from itself, and easily sent the young man to the ground, sniffing and licking Sam's face.

Dean turned and looked at the man as Sam did, and a smirk broke out on his face.

"You answer the Avon lady this way?" he asked levelly, making Sammy flinch, his heart rate speed up as his eyes stayed fixed on the shotgun and his mind cursed Dean for riling up the man with the lethal loaded weapon.

To his surprise he just laughed, and the gun was made safe and set beside the door, before he crossed the space between himself and the Winchester boys, pulling Dean into the briefest of one-armed hugs

"Only idjits like you would even answer to Avon." His gruff comment made Dean laugh, and Sam snorted despite himself, pushing weakly at the dog's head to fend it off.

"Rumsfeld," the man called, and the animal moved away from Sam to stand panting before him "Some watch dog you are." he scolded the animal, who only yawned in reply, drooling onto his shoes

"Bobby," Dean said as Sam got to his feet, and his tone help a serious note Sam had not heard before "We need somewhere to stay for a few days. And you and I need to talk." Bobby nodded, his eyes roaming over Dean to land on Sam, and he stepped forwards with a hand out

"Good to see you again, kid," he said gruffly, and Sam took the hand automatically, tensing for a moment when Bobby steeped forwards and gave him the same brief one-armed hug he'd given Dean. Sam saw Dean take a half step forward, but his brother froze as Bobby pulled away.

"Well what are you standing around for?" Bobby asked briskly, turning his gaze to Dean "Get yourselves inside. You catch a cold you're coming straight back out here cause I ain't putting up with your snivelling." Dean snorted at the last bit, and Sam couldn't help the smile that crossed his face at the man's light-hearted grumbling. He turned to get his hold-all from the back seat whilst Dean rescued his duffel from the boot, and Dean gave Sam a reassuring smile as they walked to he front door that Bobby had disappeared through.

Sam stared in surprise once they entered the house; the cluttered mess of books at every available surface and stack on the floor against the walls was the last thing he suspected of the scrap-yard owner, he pulled out of his dazed surprise as Dean shut the front door, and quietly followed his brother as he worked his way through the cluttered hall.

A battered couch in the room they entered offered up the idea that they were in the living room, though like the hall books covered every available space, and Dean dropped his duffel unceremoniously onto the floor, kicking up a cloud of dust, before dropping heavily onto the couch, throwing up a smaller dust cloud. Sam raised an eyebrow, though he dropped his bag beside Dean's before standing nervously, looking around the cluttered room.

"Should have called ahead," Bobby said, striding into the room then and holding out a beer to Dean, who took it with a grin "Turn up this early in the morning, coulda filled you with buckshot."

"You know how to make a man feel loved Bobby, that's for sure," Dean mocked, dodging Bobby's hand as he aimed a swipe at his head, he turned and held a second bottle of beer out to Sam, and his eyes narrowed as the younger Winchester

"Hell Dean!" he shouted suddenly, making Dean jump and Sam choke "The hell did you do?"

"Wha-?" Dean started, rising from the couch, Bobby stepped forwards, startling Sam back a step before the older man had a strong hand on his shoulder, fingers brushing against the bruises on his neck and making Sam flinch

"Night hag," Dean said quietly, moving over to stand by Bobby, making Sam shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny even as Bobby's hand left his body "Stopped in a motel in Nebraska, and she got at Sam." There was guilt in his eyes, and Bobby stopped studying Sam to look at Dean, and he visibly relaxed

"I'm guessing you came out here and didn't kill it," Bobby mused "Caleb's in the area, I'll let him know." He stepped away from Sam, moving across the room, probably in search of the phone. Dean looked at Sam, smiled apologetically for Bobby's attitude, and stepped closer to his brother.

"You look like crap," he told him, making Sam snort "Bedroom's upstairs on the right, get some sleep." His eyes travelled over to Bobby, and Sam understood the message that Dean wanted to talk to the older man alone, and admittedly felt tired, the confrontation with the night hag and the nightmare that followed had left him feeling exhausted, and with a nod he picked up his bag and left the two older men in search of a bed.

* * *

Sorry for the late update everyone, been stuck in bed with the flu for the last few days.


	13. Chapter 13

13

_Both Marcus and Dean stared as a small man burst from the dark building, eyes wide and haunted within a head that had skin stretched taunt across the skull, although the entire form appeared to be in the same way. The man's eyes landed briefly on the two hunters, and then moved swiftly to land on the dead puca, and an ethereal scream erupted him, making Dean shiver and shift closer to Marcus, who moved carefully between himself and the teenager._

_"It's dead, it's dead, it's dead," the small man moaned, stumbling over to the corpse of the puca and collapsing beside it, twisting his fingers into the tangled mane "It can't be dead, it mustn't. It's dead, it's dead." His voice fell into a strangled cry, and then his head suddenly snapped around, his eyes landing again on the two hunters and narrowing. He moved suddenly and quickly, practically rocketing to his feet, and the scream burst from his lips again as he charged at the pair._

_"Run Dean!" Marcus shouted, pushing the boy to the side and running in the opposite direction, Dean obeyed immediately, fleeing swiftly across the clearing and into the trees, turning his direction so that he could run parallel to the track that led from the house, knowing he'd probably get lost if he went any other way._

_He had been running for several minutes before a root tripped him, and he sprawled gracelessly, narrowly missing concussing himself on a tree, and he lay for a moment, getting his breath back and listening._

_The silence was unnerving, and he knew something was wrong. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, testing his weight on his smarting ankle and hissing as he realised he'd taken most of the skin from one palm, but he didn't think his ankle was hurt that badly, and only limped slightly as he retrieved the shotgun that had spun from his hands as he fell. A momentary decision had him turning back the way he'd come, and he started back through the trees for the clearing and the house._

Dean and Bobby were silent as they listened to the Sam climb the creaking staircase, and then Bobby moved across the room, shifting papers and books from a chair and dropping into it, dragging his hat from his head with a sigh and dropping it on top of the books that covered the desk he sat before, He gave Dean a long look, raising his eyes to the ceiling as Sam's footsteps could be heard crossing the room above them.

"What?" Dean asked

"No trouble along the way?" Bobby asked, turning tired eyes back to the eldest Winchester boy "Other than the night hag?". Dean frowned, knowing that Bobby was expecting the demon to attack as much as he was

"None," he assured the older man, "Whole trip was quiet other than last night." His stomach twisted painfully again at the thought, angry that he had not been there to protect Sam from the get go.

"What?" he said suddenly, realising that Bobby had been talking, and the older man gave an exasperated sigh, and leaned closer.

"I said your brother's gonna be fine. You got him in time."

"I didn't, Bobby," Dean replied, shifting guiltily in his seat "I mean, I let that night hag attack him, his girlfriend was attacked by the demon, and Sam was there as well, he watched her die, same as mom, whilst he was in the apartment…"

"Yeah, well, you've got Sam now," Bobby point wed out, "And the demon didn't get him that night." His eyes went tracked across the room, and Dean followed his gaze to the beer bottle Sam had left behind.

"What did you do to it?" he asked.

"Spiked it with holy water," the Bobby admitted, flashing Dean a guilty look half heartedly, "Yours too. I had to be sure," he added as Dean spluttered indignantly.

"Nice to know you're assured," Dean said after a moment, twisting the bottle idly in his hands and then drinking deeply from it "But Sammy's good, yeah? I mean no demons…?" he hadn't thought about it before, but it was possible that his brother had been caught out by a demon before Dean had found him, and that he had been travelling with a demon posing as Sam, or that Sam unconsciously had a demon piggy-backing alongside him, and that he had just allowed the thing into Bobby's house, had given it perfect opportunity to get at one of the greatest demon hunters, and the material that Bobby kept in his house was invaluable, probably wanted desperately by demons so that they could have a one-up on every hunter…

"Your brother's fine," Bobby repeated "Or he will be, what with his girlfriend being gone by the demon and the night hag…"

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "He doesn't remember the hunt Bobby. I mean, dad never told him before… before we all got split up, and I kinda had to drop it on him after getting attacked by the in the motel but still, I think-"

"You'll both stick around until you're ready," Bobby cut in, and Dean grinned at the order "Now git to bed, Hell knows you drove that kid all the way up from Iowa this morning, and you look like shit." Dean snorted, but nodded, and set the bottle on the floor before going upstairs, entering the bedroom quietly and pausing at the first bed, watching his brother sleep for a moment before he continued over to the other bed, pulling off shirt and jeans before crawling under the covers.

X

It was mid-afternoon before Bobby heard someone approaching him, and he glanced over as Sam walked across the yard and stopped close to the older man, and Bobby grunted a greeting before returning to his work.

"Dean still asleep?" he asked after a minute.

"Yeah," Sam replied, shifting slightly, it had been odd to wake up to find Dean in the bed on the other side of the room, but it hadn't been as… _wrong_ as he had thought it should have been. He looked briefly at Bobby, and then gave a small sigh and walked across the yard, sitting carefully on the bonnet of one of the rusted cars.

"You're a hunter as well, aren't you?" he asked after several minutes.

"Yeah," Bobby replied, not turning around as he spoke even though Sam had pretty much placed himself out of the elder mans view "Demons mostly, but I taught your daddy most of what he knows." He heard Sam shift behind him, and in the following silence Rumsfeld wandered over, sniffing lazily at Bobby before continuing over to Sam.

"Did you teach Dean?" he asked eventually.

"Some," the reply was truthful, "Your daddy taught him to shoot a bit, and then the Bevan's taught him mainly,"

"The Bevan's?" Sam asked,

"They looked after your brother after the accident" Bobby admitted slowly, realising they were tracking into sensitive territory and beginning to feel uncomfortable.

"And dad?" Sam asked "Where was dad?" Bobby stopped working then, turning to look at the youngest of the Winchesters, head bowed as he scratched the head of the large dog.

"Perhaps you should talk to Dean," Bobby suggested "Your brother would be better to as-"

"No!" Sam said suddenly, his head whipping up, and he looked frantically towards the house before continuing in a calmer voice "No. I don't want… I'd rather you told me Bobby, please." He face melted into an almost childish look, and Bobby had to look away as he caught the pleading gaze he'd last seen in Sam at age seven.

"Your daddy was taken in by the police after the accident f'r questioning," he explained "No one's heard off him since. He ain't in prison," he added quickly, turning back to the car and continuing with his work "If he were in prison we'd have found him. He's just… disappeared. " There was a silence between the two and then Bobby heard Sam sigh, and the younger man rose

"You should talk to Dean," Bobby suggested again, and the Sam paused.

"Yeah," he said, giving Bobby a quick dimpled grin "I will. Thank you."

X

He took a while to find his brother, searching all over the house before finally finding him around the front of the house, music blasting from the car as Dean worked under the bonnet. Sam stopped several feet away, and Dean grinned when he noticed Sam standing there.

"Hey Sammy," he said, turning back to the car "Sleep alright?"

"Dean, we need to talk," Sam responded, and Dean straightened, looked carefully at Sam's stoic face.

"Okay," he said, dropping the bonnet of the Impala and sitting on top of it "What's wrong?"

"I need you to tell me," Sam started "Everything."

"Sam, you need to narrow it down a bit there, 'everything' kind of covers a lot…"

"I'm serious Dean!" Sam all but shouted, crossing the space between them and standing beside the car, setting a hand on the bonnet "I need you to tell me everything. About hunting, about our family, about who the hell it was you shot last night!"

"Wha-?"

"Dean!" Sam's head rose to meet Dean's gaze, and Dean froze at the stricken look that suddenly appeared in Sam's eyes "I don't remember anything!"


	14. Chapter 14

14

_He got lost. For a few horrible minutes, as he ran wildly through the trees trying to find his way, he felt the fear he had not felt since the hospital, since the fire that started all of this, and then he heard a scream that made him pause and sway, and then shouts had him turning and running determinedly towards the noise._

_It wasn't long before he came across the track along, and a small sob of joy escaped now, and he was running, following the trail, following the tyre-tracks and the footprints left by Marcus and himself, only slowing when the house came into view, ducking back into the bushes as he caught the murmur of speech._

_The clearing came into view as he crept closer, and for a moment he wondered if he would have to find the trail of Marcus and the small man, and then his eyes found the pair on the edge of the clearing, Marcus on the ground at the clearings edge, the leg of his jeans in tatters and covered in blood, the small man standing over him, Marcus' gun in his hands. The broken bushes behind them showed that the man had dragged Marcus back into the clearing._

_Without thinking, without waiting to try and catch the conversation going on between the two of them, without giving the man time to get bored or impatient or angry enough to shoot Marcus, Dean had raised his gun and stepped out of the bushes and back into the clearing._

_The man turned, and Marcus' eyes widened as Dean stepped closer_

_"Dean! Run!" Marcus shouted, and the smaller man echoed him tauntingly, turning the gun on Dean and screaming._

_A shot rang out, the scream cut short, and there was a mute thud as the small man collapsed to the ground, and a moment of pure stillness before Marcus kicked out, making the man roll, and Marcus' eyes left the corpse, left the gaping hole in the mans skull that Dean had put there, to meet the wide, terror-filled eyes of the teenager._

Bobby moved quietly through the salvage yard, shielding his eyes against the low glare of the sunset. The yard was silent and dead, and laughably scary to Bobby, who had been chasing demons for a number of years. He slowed his walk, ambling slowly up to a lone rusting car, and leant against the bonnet.

Nothing moved for a moment, and then the shadows within the car shifted, and Dean slowly rose up from where he'd been lying across the front seat, and fixed Bobby with a glare.

"Took your time," he commented lowly, and Bobby raised an eyebrow.

"Thought I'd give you chance to think first." He said, "Knew you'd be here." It was always the first place he'd look for Dean if he were wandering the salvage yard, especially as a child. The car was a badly wrecked Chevrolet, exactly the same as the Winchester family car except that under the rust this one was red, and the rusted heap had been long ago dismantled for parts - one door was in fact being used by the black Chevy round the front of the house – but a free weekend had allowed Bobby to rebuild as much of the frame as possible, and on one visit by Dean - after the family had been separated and the junk car was the closest thing he had as a reminder of his family – had made him replace the front seats, and leave the car clear enough to allow Dean to visit whenever he visit the salvage yard.

"Yeah, well, thanks," Dean said awkwardly, scrubbing at his face with one hand and then punching the car seat "Dammit, Bobby. He doesn't remember anything."

"I know," Bobby replied "He told me after you stormed off."

"I didn't storm off," Dean said hotly "I left to think."

"You didn't say anything to the kid, just up'd and walked off. That counts as 'storming off'."

"Damn idiot surprised me," Dean muttered, and then punched the seat again "Hell Bobby, I expected to have to tell Sam about the hunt, I didn't think I'd have to tell him everything!"

"You need to talk to him Dean," Bobby replied "Let him tell you what he remembers so you can fill in everything else. I don't know anything," he added as Dean opened his mouth "I won't let the kid tell me anything until he's told you. Now stop making me mediate the two of you and talk to your brother."

"Maybe," Dean said, "I don't know what to say to him Bobby, I don't know what to tell him and what to leave out." He stopped there, and grabbed his head "He's turning me into a walking chick-flick!" his head touched against his knees, and then bounced back up, and he pulled a hand from his head to again punch the seat, and Bobby snorted.

"Talk to your brother, Dean," Bobby said, pushing away from the car and starting back towards the house "I ain't feeding either of you until you do."

"I've got my car!" Dean shouted after him, to which Bobby merely held out a hand, a set of keys hanging from his fingers, and he disappeared into the dark as Dean checked his very empty pockets and cursed.

X

Sam was sitting on the hood of Bobby's truck when Dean walked around to the house, Rumsfeld on the bonnet, and the dog looked up first, tongue lolling in acknowledgment before he dropped his head again, and Sam turned his head to watch Dean walk over.

"Hey," Dean said, climbing up onto the and sitting beside Sam

"Hey," Sam responded, "Listen Dean, I'm –"

"This is your last chick-flick moment," Dean replied, holding out a hand to stop Sam from speaking, and then he straightened out his leather jacket "Seriously, I've got a reputation to uphold here." Sam snorted, ducking his head for a moment

"Fine," he said "I'm sorry I dropped that on you earlier."

"You were going to do that eventually," Dean replied with a shrug "There's too much girl in you, Samantha." He smirked as Sam gave him a push, and grabbed the edge of the truck to stop falling off.

"So you really can't remember anything?" he asked eventually

"Not much," Sam said honestly "My name, obviously. And I could remember you and dad." He sighed, and leant backwards, head tipping backwards to stare at the sky

"I can remember being in the car," he said "Remember being up back, and it being dark, and then I woke up in the hospital, and they wouldn't tell me where you and dad were, even though I was scared, terrified that the two of you were dead. And then they released me, and I was sure that you guys were getting me out and instead the Collins' were there, and they took me home with them. The only way they could get me calm enough to get me out of the hospital was to promise that you guys were still alive and you'd get me as soon as everything was sorted and I waited…" he trailed off, sighed, and then turned his head to look at Dean "What happened?"


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Sorry for the really late update everyone, got caught up in essays, I'll definatley have a new update for you next Friday, angel_death_dealer will make sure of it whilst I'm staying with her. This is the first of (hopefully) only two full flashback chapters. Enjoy!

15

The tape player spat the cassette out into John's waiting hand, and he wordlessly passed it to Dean, who immediately exchanged it for another from the box. John didn't even spare it a glance as he overtook a tractor, trusting Dean's taste in music enough to just slot the cassette into the player, rolling his shoulders slightly as a Metallica tune began to play.

Dean smiled as John turned the volume up on the tape player slightly, humming the song under his breath as he continued to dig through the box, though it wasn't like he didn't know what was inside, John rarely brought new cassettes these days unless it was to replace ones that somehow were lost or damaged, but he enjoyed going through the box of cassettes, mentally striking off which songs were on which tapes, how many of the songs he knew off by heart.

He shuffled through the box a final time, satisfied that he'd looked at every tape in their collection, and then allowed the box to close with a snap, reaching forwards to stow it away in the open glove compartment and rescuing a bag of peanut M&Ms from inside before settling back in his seat, nudging the glove compartment shut with one knee and refusing to look at his father, who he didn't doubt was cocking an eyebrow at him.

He turned his head towards the passenger window as he dug into the bag, staring boredly out at the constant green blur of hedges that lined the roadside, and with a sigh ducked his head down, tossing several pieces of chocolate into his mouth as he searched the front of the car for something to amuse himself with. Sometimes, he really hated the country.

He accidentally caught John's gaze as the man turned his head slightly, and his father glanced at the chocolate in his hand and then quirked a eyebrow before returning his attention to the road. Dean knew what the silent expressions meant, and they only caused him to clutch the bag possessively tighter. Normally he would follow through with the silent command, normally he wouldn't even need the silent expression to be given, but today he wasn't sharing his candy with Sam. Sam was being a brat. It was Sam's fault that Dean couldn't go on the hunt with John, if his brother hadn't decided to copy Dean in everything, hadn't tried to get a hold of the knife Dean had just set down John wouldn't have got mad at Dean and prevented him from going on the hunt.

He again looked around the front of the car, even though he knew there was nothing to do already, and as he dug his hand into the bag again he again unfortunately caught John's eye, received the glance and the upraised eyebrow before John's attention again returned to the road, and Dean sighed, tossing his new handful of chocolate into his mouth and swallowing, trying to be as defiant as possible, which worked well until he saw John cast his eyes to the roof of the car and then one hand reach out slowly, moving towards the tape player, hovering just centimetres from the eject button. Dean made a small noise of protest, trying to ignore his fathers grin as he rose slightly in the seat, pulling his legs up beneath him to give him the added height needed to see over the top of the bench seat and then twisting his body, the hand that was armed with the candy draping casually over the seat.

Sam was curled up on the seat, knees up and level with his chin, arms wrapped tightly around his legs, head turned towards the window and tilted just slightly upwards so that he could see out at the blurred hedges. He didn't turn his head to face Dean as the elder boy had moved to lean over the seat, but Dean was at just the right angle to see Sam's reflection in the glass, to see the shining tears in his brother's eyes and on his face.

Dean sighed, twisting slightly more, ignoring the discomfort he was receiving and John's quick glance. One day he'd be able to ignore Sam's tears and let the kid mope in silence, but unfortunately it wasn't today.

"Sammy," he called out, "Sammy." He ducked a hand into the bag and threw an M&M at his brother. It bounced off the vinyl close to Sam's face but he hadn't really been aiming for him anyway, and ignored the glare that John sent him in favour of grinning as Sam angrily swiped at his face and turned to look at Dean, dropping his feet from the seat

"What do you want?" he asked snappily "Jerk." Dean grinned, cocking his head slightly in his 'you're a bitch way' and holding out the bag of candy

"Calm down, little brother," Dean said with a small smirk "Maybe I'll get you a pen knife for your birthday." Sam reached out and grabbed some candy, swallowing it down hurriedly and brushing away the tears.

"Dad would kill you if you did," he said, though a grateful smile was playing at his face "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean responded, settling back into his seat, tilting his head backwards to tip the last few pieces of chocolate into his mouth before screwing up the packet and tossing it to his feet, he'd fetch it up from there when they stopped for the night.

"We'll driving until we're over the state line," John told his sons suddenly, glancing at Sam quickly in the rear view mirror, "Get some sleep son." Sam nodded, he'd not slept well for the last few nights, the last motel they'd been in humid and mouldy had affected his youngest most out of them all and caused the child to toss and turn at night, trying to breath without bursting into coughing fits, and the lack of sleep had definitely caught up on his youngest, as he yawned again, curling up and setting his head on his knees, quickly falling asleep.

"You too Dean," John said once a glance into the rear view mirror had assured him Sam was following orders.

"What?" Dean spluttered, "I'm twelve dad, I don't need a nap!"

"Maybe not," John agreed, glancing at Dean and smirking "But if you're come on the hunt with me, I need you wide awake." Dean's mouth opened to protest, and then slammed shut again as he took in his fathers words, and a grin spread across his features

"Awesome," he murmured, shifting around in the seat "Thank you sir," he added quietly as he fell into sleep.

X

Dean stirred awake; noting straight away that it was dark, both within the car and beyond it. A glance out of the windscreen showed him a road lit up by the cars headlights, the hedges still siding the road on his side of the car, though they'd given way on the driver side for a ditch and a thick line of trees.

He turned his attention back into the interior of the car, squinting at the clock on the dashboard, trying to see the time in the dark.

A quiet whimper made me freeze, only notable because John had turned the music down when both of his sons were asleep, but Dean caught the sound, and the one that followed it, and swiftly twisted in his seat.

Sam was still asleep, though his forehead was creased and his arms were twisted awkwardly within his seatbelt, and as Dean watched his little brother whimpered again, head twisting and jerking back, colliding heavily with the seat

"No," he mumbled, and Dean narrowed his eyes slightly, glancing at John – their father's attention was solidly on the road, but the grim set of his face showed that he was aware of Sam's nightmare.

"Sammy," Dean called out, turning his head back towards the back of the car "Sam, wake up. Sammy!" his voice rose each time as Sam continued to sleep, moaning and mumbling under his breath.

"There's no where to pull over Dean," John said as his eldest turned to look at him, not taking his eyes from the road as he heard Dean sigh and shift around impatiently.

"Sammy!" Dean tried again "Sammy wake up!" he wished he still had some M&Ms left over, as maybe one directly to the forehead would wake up Sam, he mused on the thought for a moment, watching his brother carefully as Sam still, his mumbling quietening until the only sounds left were the roar of the engine and the quiet play of songs.

And then Sam screamed, throwing one arm out so that it collided heavily with the door, and Dean jumped, eyes fixed on his screaming brother as John swore.

"Dad! Pull over!" Dean shouted as Sam twisted violently in his seat, arms tangling in the seatbelt, colliding with the door and seat, his body twisting so that the seatbelt was against his neck.

Dean didn't even think, his hands fumbled at his seatbelt, eventually releasing it and he scrambled around on the seat before the thing had even snapped back completely, eyes fixed on Sam as he screamed and fought against his nightmare, and then he was up and scrambling over the top of the bench seat to get to the back of the car.

"Christ!" John shouted as Dean's foot slipped on the vinyl and collided with his shoulder, "Dean!" he added, as the car veered off the road and sailed into the ditch, he heard his eldest son's cry mingle with Sam's scream, and then the car slammed into the ditch forcefully, John's head flying forwards to collide with the steering wheel, and everything went black.


	16. Chapter 16

16

The dialogue part of Enter Sandman crept into John's mind, stirring him into consciousness, and he became aware of his head lying against the steering wheel. He let out a moan, pushing away from the steering wheel and sitting heavily back into his seat, a hand going up to his forehead, ghosting against the bump that sat there, feeling blood but guessing he wasn't bleeding anymore. He opened his eyes finally, wincing as the bright light from the headlamps cut like a sharp knife into his brain, but turned his head to take in the empty passenger seat.

"Dean?" he called out, wincing again at the pain "Sammy?" no response, in fact, silence other than the sound of the engine and the Metallica song "Boys?" Nothing over the sounds already filling the car, and shakily John reached out, turning the key and cutting the sounds off, throwing the car into total silence, plunging them into darkness.

"Dean?" he called out again "Sammy? Boys?" he fumbled for his seatbelt when only the silence responded, and was just twisting in his seat when he heard a moan come from the back seat.

"Boys?" he called out tentatively, feeling a surge of hope as the moan came again, and he heard the sound of movement

"Dad?" Dean's voice, groggy and pain-filled, but Dean's voice all the same, and John relaxed just marginally.

"Dean?" he called out again "Son? Are you okay?" he heard Dean shift again, heard him give a whimper and a muted curse

"I'm okay dad," he answered finally, and then as though he could see John's disapproving frown he continued, "I think my shoulder's dislocated, and I hit my head, but I'm alright."

"Sam?" he called over his shoulder, and again into the responding silence "Sammy?"

"Sammy?" Dean's voice joined his now, his son sounding as panicked as John felt by the resounding silence

"Dean, can you see your brother?" John asked, practically holding his breath as he waited for Dean's response.

"It's too dark sir," Dean said eventually, sounding close to tears, and John murmured reassurances as he reached over to the glove compartment, pulling a torch out from within and passing it over the bench seat to Dean, closing his eyes briefly as the flashlight burnt a now nearly familiar pain through his skull, and he heard Dean gasp.

"Dean?" he called out "Dean!" there was no response, and he twisted swiftly in his seat, ignoring the spots that flew before his eyes and the agony that shot through his skull, focusing only on Sam leaning bodily against the car door, skin ghostly pale in the flashlight glow but one half masked grotesquely in blood.

"Don't touch him Dean," John warned as he saw Dean reach towards his brother, noticing Dean's hurt expression as he pulled his hand back, and then his eyes flicked to the leather jacket that he'd thrown onto the back seat before this ill-fated journey had started. "Sit beside your brother son, and put my jacket over yourselves," his mind was working quickly now, the sight of his youngest and worry that both his sons could be falling into shock pulling it from the lethargy it had been in since he'd woken up "Keep talking to him, but try not to touch him too much, we don't know how badly hurt he is." Dean nodded, moving to comply with John's orders, and the man watched his eldest as he dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out his phone, he needed to get an ambulance to the car fast.

X

"A sharp scratch, Dean," he heard, and blinked as he felt the needle break the skin in the crook of his elbow, "There we go. It'll start working in a moment and then your arm will stop hurting." He blinked again as the white coat of the doctor left his view, leaving him to stare at the wall again, and he heard the doctor sigh and then his view was obstructed again, the doctor's haggard face appearing before his and fingers pulling at his eyelid

"No concussion," Doctor Hills mused, the fingers leaving his face and moving to adjust the sling that held his dislocated and fractured arm "You were a very lucky young man, Dean," no reply, just another blink as the doctor rose and sat on the bed beside Dean. The twelve year old gave no show that he knew the man was there, completely catatonic as he sat staring at the wall, one hand in his lap and the other shaking where it was held at his chest by the sling.

"If you settled into the bed Dean," he started, hoping to coax some life into the pale child "I could perhaps find out how your father is doing." Another blink, though no other response, and he sighed, there was no obvious head injury, and other than the dislocated and fractured arm no injuries, but perhaps he should schedule Dean in for some tests, the catatonia the boy was in worried him.

The door opened then, and he looked up to see a tall man, ragged looking and muscular, a head wound sealed with butterfly bandages and blood dried to the collar of his shirt. The boy's father, if he remembered rightly. The two had come in the ambulance together, the man had been promising his son that everything would be ok, but he had the look of a fighter and a troublemaker about him, aided perhaps by the two police officers who had stopped outside the room as he had entered, and were hovering just outside.

"Dean," John breathed, crossing over to the bed where his son sat. Hills moved off before John reached it, and the eldest Winchester took the vacated space, putting a hand on his son's shoulder, breathing his name again

"Dean…"

The boy blinked, and then slowly turned his head, blinking a final time at his father before the snaking his good arm out and around his fathers waist, burying his head into the man's chest.

"It's alright son," John promised "It's okay," he pulled back from Dean, looking over the pale face, wincing at the wide-eyed, nearly dead stare, turning a look over the trussed-up arm "Are you okay son?" a nod of affirmation, though it was stilted, unsure, and John let out a hard breath, he recognised the stare and the silence completely, recognised the shut-down to be the same as after Mary had died, hoped that they would pull through it, hoped that Sam was alright.

"My son can't tell you what happened," he said, turning his attention to the two officers stood by the door "Please. He was like this after… after my wife died. He won't be able to tell you what happened until we know Sam's alright."

"Mr Winchester," the one officer said, stepping into the room, and Hills noticed the way the boy cringed back, and John's arms tightened around his son protectively "I'm sorry, but until we know what happened we can't leave you and your son…"

"I'm telling you something came out of the trees," John responded snappishly, his eyes filled with protective anger "I swerved to try and miss it and crashed the car into the ditch."

"We understand that, Mr Winchester," the officer responded, but there are several instances we'd like to discuss with you, if you could come with us we could have ever-"

"Not until I know my son's are alright," John again brought Dean closer, and his eldest gripped the man's t-shirt, staring wide-eyed at the officer "And I'm able to get someone here to keep an eye on them." He looked to the doctor as the officer tried to put forth a case.

"Dean's shoulder was dislocated," Hills said, knowing John wanted word on his son "There's a fracture to his humerus, but I'm worried most about the catatonia."

"He was like this when my wife died," John admitted "Once he knows that Sam, that his brother, is alright…" he let the sentence hang, and Hills nodded

"I'll see what I can find out about your youngest Mr. Winchester." He promised, moving out of the room, he could hear the conversation start up again between the officer and John, and hoped the man wasn't escorted out of the hospital just yet, the eldest had at least responded to his father, it had been more than he'd received.

Dean had blocked out the conversation between his father and the police officer stood in the room, preferring to just hold tightly onto the man at his side, waiting for the doctor to return and let him know that Sam was alright, perhaps return with Sam himself, so his little brother could tell him himself, he did not want to hear what was going on around him, had heard enough before he had closed off the conversation to know that they wanted to take his father away from him, and that John did not want to go, did not want to leave Dean and Sam alone.

He started when he heard shouting from the corridor, and jumped from the bed and was out of the door before either the doctor or his father could say anything. A gurney was being pushed down the corridor, and he flattened himself against the wall as it went by, the crowd of doctors around it shouting orders at each other. He moved away from the wall once they'd passed, standing in the middle of the corridor as he watched the group hurry away, rush through the swinging doors at the end of the corridor and bear the gurney that held his brother out of his sight.

"Dean," the gentle gruffness to his father's voice was unable to get his eyes from the swinging doors as a large hand rested gently on his shoulder.

"Dean," the call again, and he swivelled his eyes, green meeting brown as his father stared down at him.

"Son," John started, paused, eyes moving to look beyond Dean, to look to the swinging doors "Son, I've gotta go and sort this out, alright? Watch over Sammy until this all gets sorted." Dean's eyes moved briefly to look beyond his father, focused briefly on the two policemen that stood close by, and then his gaze returned to his father and he nodded his affirmation once.

"Thank you," John whispered, drawing Dean into a sudden hug, the boy standing rigid in shock "Everything will turn out alright," John continued in his ear "I'll see you and Sammy soon." The strength of the hug increased for the barest of moments, and then the arms left, John's presence fading as the man walked over to the police, the three moving away from the swing doors Sam had just been taken through, away from Dean, who still stood, frozen and lost, in the middle of the corridor.

"Mr Winchester," Doctor Hills called out, rushing through a set of doors before John could be taken from the hospital lobby, and the eldest Winchester paused, turning to look at the doctor with worried, questioning eyes.

"Sam?" he asked, his voice coming in a croak, and Hills wondered how long it would be before the man broke down, whether he would be a crying man or a fighting man.

"A bad head injury, Mr Winchester," he said, "I think there is a worry of a chest injury as well." No need to inform the father that they'd been informed that Sam had gone into respiratory distress as they had loaded him into the ambulance, he didn't think he needed it at that moment.

"Thank you," John replied "Could you keep an eye on my sons, until I get back?" he glanced at the two officers who were stood waiting just behind him, and then turned back to the doctor, completely ignorant it seemed of the staring and whispering civilians watching within the lobby as he dug in a pocket and pulled out his wallet, handed over a well folded piece of paper.

"And could you phone one of the numbers on this?" he asked, he looked pale and worn, tired and lost "Let someone know what happened, they can come and watch the boys." He watched Hills nod, pocket the piece of paper

"I'll try Mr. Winchester," he heard the doctor promise as he allowed himself to be led from the hospital and his sons.


	17. Chapter 17

A.N: Last chapter up until the 29th I think people. My exams are starting week after next so I really need to revise and not write (although I should have been revising when I wrote this so we'll see how it goes). We're back onto normal chapters now as well xD

Thanks to angel_death_dealer, who puts up with my numerous days of 'I'm going to write' (and then I never do) and also for putting up with my one sided conversations on what I should be doing before she gets to give her input and opinion.

17

_He sat, shivering slightly beneath the oversized coat, fingers flexing convulsively at the cuffs that were bunched up at his wrists. He was silent, hadn't said a word since he'd managed to get Marcus back to the car and had somehow kept the man conscious enough for him to drive them back to the house. Now he sat shivering in one of the hard plastic chairs in the hospital waiting room, wide eyes staring at the door Marcus had been taken through, silently watching and listening to Angela's voice, not hearing her words as she spoke to a doctor, but noting that she was there._

_"Dean?" she was at his side now, and he ducked his head slightly, nodded minutely, not taking his eyes from the door, and Angela sighed, placing a hand at the base of his skull, glancing at the doctor beside her_

_"Dean, the doctor wants to check you over sweetheart. Are you hurt?" she got no response, hadn't expected one, she knew that Dean was waiting for her husband, waiting to see if the situation that had played out only a few months earlier would occur again, if he would lose another family within the hospital._

_"Dean," she was wrapping her arms around him now, carefully so as not to startle him, drawing his close and gnawing her lip, worried that he was still shivering, still looked cold even though he was wearing Marcus' coat "Dean, he's going to be alright I promise. He's got a broken leg and some cuts, but he'll be fine and we'll see him soon." She kissed the top of his head, closed her eyes as she pictured Dean running into the house, dragging her to where her husband was slumped, half-conscious in the car, and only opened her eyes again when she felt Dean's head swivel, and looked down into wide eyes that told her she needed to keep her promise._

_"My ankle," he said quietly "My ankle hurts is all. Can we go and see Marcus now?"_

"I waited man," Dean croaked, his voice had cracked half way through his telling, and he looked close to breaking down, and Sam wondered if his brother was stepping on the border of 'chick-flick' he so desperately hated.

"I waited, for dad to come back, for someone to come out and tell me you were alright, and then some chick in a suit appeared and dragged me away, got me placed straight-off with some foster family 'until dad came back'." He ran a hand through his hair, seemed to pulling himself together slightly "and after a week that chick came back and started talking to the foster-parents and I _knew_ that something had happened, that maybe you were dead, that dad was in jail and I was gonna be stuck in that hell-hole until I was eighteen unless I ran," it had been that moment, that horrific moment when everything came crashing down around him and the fear welled up in his heart and threatened to suffocate him that he had broken the silence that he had been in since they'd been in the hospital and he'd _screamed_, shouting and swearing and throwing things until a doctor had arrived at the house and sedated him "I rang Bobby the next night, and I don't know how he did it, but he got me out of there, taken me to live with some hunting family" they'd lost their kid, their son, a boy around Sam's age, three years before to a shtriga, had come into the world of hunting then, but had been so happy to have another child around the house, had been completely understanding to Dean and had been the ones to find out that his brother was still alive, had kept in the hunter ring when he would have been lost to that around the same time he would have been lost into the system "They kept me busy, kept me training, hunting, and then," they'd died, been killed by a demon when Dean was seventeen, but Sam didn't need to know that "after I started moving around, starting hunting on my own, Bobby and some of the others" people Sam should have known, should have been brought up to trust and rely on, but instead were complete strangers "They started giving me the information they'd been working off since the accident, trying to find you and dad, and I started the hunt myself." Until he was able to find Sam, had it only been three days before? Had been able to finally reunite himself with one half of his family.

There was a silence that stretched between them. Sam was still looking at his brother, watching him carefully, and Dean's story had just died off, leaving him to stare silently at his legs stretched out in front of him.

"You girls done with your trip down memory lane?" Bobby groused from the porch, causing both to sin quickly. There was no real fire in the man's complaint though, and a quietly contemplative look on his face that nearly looked sympathetic "'Cause if you are I'd get your arses in here, dinner's going cold and I'm giving it to the dog in three minutes." He turned, going back into the house, and Dean merely flashed his brother a grin, jumping off the hood and then starting for the house.

"Come on," he called over his shoulder "I don't think he would, but Bobby's pretty forthcoming when it comes to his threats." Sam smirked, glancing at Rumsfeld still lying on the roof, scratching the dog's ears lazily

"You wouldn't eat my food, would you?" he asked, laughing as the dog got up in response and started towards the house. Sam ran ahead of it, slowing to a walk again once he'd reached the front door, and walking around to the kitchen

"Hey Dean," he called out, moving towards the table where Bobby had set three places and three plates of fries and huge burgers stood.

"Wha'?" Dean responded, he'd not even sat down, had only really got into arms distance of the table before he'd reached out and snagged a handful of fries from one plate and throwing them into his mouth. Sam sniggered as Dean moved towards one of the other settings, and took the one directly opposite his brother; leaving Bobby to have the one Dean had stolen the fries from.

"How'd you get the car?" Sam asked, "I mean, if dad's missing… it is the same car isn't it? It's our car, right?" his eyes had widened, making him look like the innocent eight-year old Dean had last seen his brother as as he came to the thought that Dean had brought a '67 that looked like their dad's car, Dean had said before that they had a lot of memories in the car, but maybe it was just a general feeling towards black 67 Impalas in general...

"It's Johnny's car alright," Bobby said, cutting in before Dean could say anything "God knows what happened to it after the accident but it turned up here before Dean's sixteenth." Everything had been in the car when Bobby had looked it over the morning he'd woken up and found it outside the house. A few guns had been missing from the trunk, but everything else had been in there, everything from the last time Bobby had seen the broken family together, and before he'd driven the car to the Bevan's for Dean's sixteenth he had emptied all of the boy's childhood possessions from the back and put them in a box. Dean had told him to burn it all, but the look in the teenagers face had said the opposite, and so Bobby had placed the box in the spare room that had twin beds in it, the room that Sam and Dean had always used when the family had stayed with him.

Dean's gaze dropped to his burger at Bobby's words, and Sam had glanced briefly at his brother, noticing that his jaw had tightened. The car, he understood, had been left at Bobby's, and his mind slowly registered the point that this meant that someone, someone most likely being John, had driven it there and left it with Bobby to be delivered to Dean. If their father had been able to get the car to Bobby's then he should have been able to at least find out where Dean was, should have been able to get his eldest son if not his youngest.

Something nudged Dean's leg beneath the table, and he raised his head to see Sam staring back at him from under his bangs, and seeing Dean's attention on him Sam smiled.

"Hey," he said, giving a half-shrug "We'll find him, right? I mean, you found me, so we'll find dad." Dean stared at him silent, nodded slowly, turned his attention away from Sam to start in on his burger again, and both boys grinned when Bobby grumbled from the head of the table.

"You girls chick-flick one more time and you're sleeping in the yard, I swear."


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: So sorry for the long wait in updates, my only excuse is that my laptop has finally given up the dust. Hope you are all still reading this and haven't given up on me. I've given you a long chapter than usual due to the wait, and will try to get more chapters up soon!

18

_Dean woke from a blank sleep, frowning as he lay there, recognising the heady feeling as a follow up from the sedatives he had been given once or twice before in his life. Moving slowly, he shifted out of bed, eyeing his cast foot warily and then moving awkwardly from the room._

_It was home, as much as home as the Bevan's house was, and he tried to think past the cotton stuffed in his head, tried to remember coming home, but couldn't remember much past sitting in the hospital waiting room._

_Marcus, bloodied and still in the car, came to his mind, and he moved as fast as he could down the stairs, grasping tightly to the banister as the world swayed around him. Voices, a conversation coming from the kitchen, caught his attention once he'd reached the hall, and he started towards it, pushing the door open and standing just in the doorway._

_Marcus was sat at the table, leg casted like Deans, a bandage wrapped around one arm and several stitches across his forehead, he was cradling a mug of coffee, deep in a conversation with Bobby Singer, Angela was leaning against the fridge, talking to and scowling at the two men sat on her kitchen surfaces, and Dean immediately recognised them for Caleb and Joshua._

_"Dean!" Marcus had glanced over, noticed the teenager stood in the doorway, and Angela was at his side in a instant, dragging him across the room and pushing him into a seat at the table_

_"How are you Dean? Your leg hurt?" Marcus was asking, Angela was pressing a mug into Dean's hands, and he just continued to stare at the three additional men in the house - at Bobby, Josh and Caleb._

_"Why are you here?" he asked, and a pit suddenly opened in his stomach, making him dizzier than the drugs had "Is it dad? Sam?" the three exchanged glances, sober and anxious, and then Bobby leaned across the table_

_"We can't find your dad, Dean," Bobby admitted, "He's gone off the grid. And Sam," he glanced at Angela, turned his attention back to Dean "We don't know Dean, we may have found a lead. We may have found him, but Dean," another pause, another glance at Angela "This kid. There was a hit and run. He's dead"_

_Silence, a stretch of pure silence that stretched almost endlessly._

_"Take me with you." Dean said firmly, "I want to see if it's Sam."_

His eyes snapped open, and for a moment he lay perfectly still in the dark, breathing heavily as though he'd just run a race, body completely still ears straining, trying to catch the sound that had woken him.

His eyes were growing accustomed the dark in the room, were moving steadily back and forth, taking in the bulky shaped of the wardrobe and dresser, the shape of the lamp and the square picture frame. From where he lay he had a solid view out of the door, was able to look out into the next room, make out the shape of the couch and the side table, beyond that he could see they hadn't closed the curtains again before going to bed, a habit he'd long had and never managed to break himself of – he'd always enjoyed being able to look out of his bedroom window at home when he woke up – most importantly, everything was quiet, still, no trace of anything suspicious. Perhaps it had been his imagination that had caused him to believe there was something there.

Behind him Jess stirred, mumbled something in her sleep and rolled over, arm flying out and falling against his back. He lay still for a second, and then rolled, carefully putting his arms around her, daring not to wake her up, eyes sliding shut as he rested his head against her head, breathed deeply to take in the apple smell of her shampoo, and a smile spread across his face, Jess was there, was lying beside him. It had all been a dream, a crazy nightmare. Jess wasn't dead, they were both in their apartment, she was alive.

A pang went through him for a moment, he still had Jess, but Dean, his brother still hadn't found him, their father hadn't found him. Had he dreamed all of that as well? Was his mind finally trying to supply an excuse for the missing memories and fears that he'd been abandoned by his family? The familiar swell of terror surged through him, his imagination creating scenarios to reason why John and Dean had never rescued him from the hospital, a number of them – nearly all of them – resulted in his father and brother dying.

Jess mumbled beside him, buried her head into his chest and banished the thoughts for a time, and beyond the room something shifted, creaked.

He wasn't imagining it, he was sure.

His head twisted, looking beyond the bedroom to try and see the intruder, his arms began to loosen their hold on Jess, he'd go and see what the problem was - it was probably nothing; the shift of the building as it heated and cooled or whatever the reasoning usually was in these situations.

Another creek came from beyond his sight, and then suddenly the comforting weight in his arms vanished.

Panicked, he sun back to look at Jess. The blonde was missing, the circle his arms had created empty, cold. His eyes widened, first in surprise, and then shock, fear, and he found his eyes been drawn automatically to the ceiling.

_Oh God no._

The words were incapable of leaving his throat, his ability to draw air was suddenly gone, as was his ability to move, to help, to shout the thoughts that were running through his head, everything gone except for the ability to watch, to take in what was going on above him.

Jess. Body pinned to the ceiling, limbs twisted out around her, hair splayed around her head like some parody of a halo, her nightgown – a white thing that Sam had never seen before in his life – blossoming with red at the stomach, drops falling steadily onto the bed, onto him, and he was unable to do anything, unable to turn away from the horrific spectacle above him, unable to draw his eyes from the pure agony written in her expression.

_Please God, not again. Please._

Desperately, he wanted to look away, to try and reach out and pull her from the ceiling, to do something, anything, but lie there and stare up in horrified fascination, waiting for it, waiting for what he knew was coming, dreading it, dreading the agonising wait for it to happen.

There was a sudden sound, the _fwump _that follows a match being thrown into oil, and a large circle of the ceiling was suddenly engulfed in flame. The section directly beneath where Jess was pinned, and Sam could only watch as her pained face twisted into agony, and the fire engulfed her

"No!" the shout left his throat in a rush, taking with it any air that had been left in his lungs, and one arm threw out and up, trying to grab desperately at the woman staring agonisingly down at him, pain ricocheted through his arm, harsh and quick, and he was immediately reminded of the night hag. But the night hag wasn't real, he had dreamed that. This was real, Jess burning up above him, whilst he was helpless, unable to move.

The bed beside him dipped suddenly, and he was able to flicker his eyes to the spot before his attention unwillingly returned to the space where Jess burned. There was nothing there, nothing beside him, perhaps the night hag was real, he didn't know it, but perhaps subconsciously it was the truth, and now she was here to attack him. But Dean had said she stopped when you were awake, that they only attack when you were asleep.

'This one must have been really angry if she didn't stop when she realised you were awake' The voice came unbidden, a memory surfacing through the terror as an invisible hand wrapped around his arm, but Dean had not come to find him, he had dreamt Dean, but he had dreamt the night hag and she was real, she was shaking him now. His head span, reminding him he needed to take in a breath though his lungs refused to co-operate, his vision was darkening, though he could still clearly see Jess burning above him

_Sam_

perhaps he would pass out before he got control of his body again, perhaps the night

_Sam_

hag would finish him off whilst he was out, or whilst he was incapable of moving, or

_Sam_

perhaps the fire would consume him as well as Jess, it was spreading quickly, the entire room was on fire now, all except a ring around the bed, although it wouldn't be long before that caught as well and then he

_Sam_

would be taken with Jess, would be killed along with her and he found that

_Sam_

he wasn't all that bother, Jess was dead, John and Dean (he knew this completely, the terror had again supplied with thought and now he was willing to believe it completely) were also dead, in a car crash or a plane crash or a

_SAM_

fire or a shooting or something and he'd see them all soon, he knew that, he welcomed it and he was ready for it. Jess, above him, was no longer visible, consumed into the roiling flames and the heat was unbearable, burning in his lungs, it wouldn't be

_SAM!_

His body shot up now, released from whatever hold the hag had had on it, and he took several large gasping breaths, choking down the air into lungs still burning from the heat, a shaky hand moved to massage at his chest

"Sammy?" his eyes sprang open at the tentative question, and they quickly found Dean, his brother, sat beside him, looking at him worriedly, watching him carefully, and then his eyes roamed the room, the slightly damp looking wallpaper and the twin beds and the beaten in wardrobe and Bobby stood by the door, watching him with a look parallel to Deans and

"Oh God," he murmured, as his stomach lurched up into his chest, and Dean quickly pushed a bucket under Sam's nose, fast enough to catch the contents of his stomach as it rushed up to greet him.

"I've got him Bobby," he heard Dean say as he clutched desperately at the bucket, heard the older man murmur an affirmative, heard the creak of the floorboards outside the door as Bobby left them, and slowly he raised his head, met Dean's worried eyes through his bangs.

"Alright now?" Dean asked, waiting for Sam's nod before taking the bucket from unprotesting hands and setting it on the floor beside the bed. Sam shifted on the bed, shivered sullenly as the cold finally made itself known against his sweat-soaked skin, and then looked to his brother.

"I'm good," he said, closed his eyes, throwing them open again as the image of Jess – in agony, burning on the ceiling – appeared in his mind, and he gagged back the bile that rose up again, waved away his brother as he waved the bucket under his nose again, and then took two long gulps of air.

"I'm good," he repeated, kept his eyes open this time, scrubbed a hand across his face. "I'm fine, it was just a dream." A dream he repeated in his mind, although it wasn't really, not completely anyway, Jess had been pinned to the ceiling, had burnt there whilst he'd been helpless to help, had been frozen as she'd died.

"Sam!" Dean's voice, rough and anxious, drew him from his mind, and he looked at his brother. He was here, even though Jess wasn't. Dean had found him Dean wasn't dead.

"Stay with me Sam," Dean said now, setting a hand on Sam's shoulder, steadying the shivering younger brother. He frowned as Sam looked at him, his brother pale and lethargic, shivering even as he dragged a blanket up over his shoulders, and Dean knew he'd not be able to banish the image of waking up to see Sam fighting for breath just feet away. Sam was supposed to be safe now, and yet Dean was still having trouble keeping him that way.

"I'm alright," the reassurance was still doing nothing for Dean, and Sam grasped weakly at the blanket, drawing it closer around himself, stared towards the open door as he shivers finally abated and then he gave Dean a shaky smile.

"You wanna talk about it?" Dean asked, and the smile grew, became a grin.

"No chick flick moments, remember?" Sam said, and then shook his head "I'm fine. I… You don't need to hear it." Dean frowned nodded, he'd wait, he'd get the information from Sam eventually, and he knew when Sam sighed that Sam knew it too.

"Dean, leave it." He begged, and Dean nodded again. For now he would.

"Alright." He said eventually, released Sam's shoulder, stood up and walked past Sam's bed to throw the curtains open, smirking slightly as Sam groaned against the sudden invasion of light.

"Get up," Dean said briskly, "Rise and shine. We've got stuff to do." He was practically through the door before a blanket-shrouded Sam had scrambled off the bed, and was following after Dean with the curiosity of a young child.

"What stuff?" he asked, tripping over a trailing end of the blanket and leaning against the door frame as Dean paused at the stairs.

"If we're going after Dad I want to know you can watch my back." Dean said simply, and a smile turned the edges of his mouth up "We're not going anywhere until we've trained you up some."


	19. Chapter 19

19

_Marcus' hand was resting against the nape of his neck, a comforting weight as they waited in the long corridor. Dean shivered once, unable to stop himself, and Marcus' hand squeezed the nape of his neck reassuringly as Angela rested a hand against his shoulder, her other hand taking her husbands._

_ The group took up much of the subterranean corridor, the Bevan's and Dean clustered beside the door into the viewing room, Bobby, Caleb and Josh stood opposite them, alternating between watching the teenager and staring at the doors._

_ The ME stepped out of the room they were waiting to enter – the one that held Sam – and Dean's eyes snapped to him, his entire body tensing as he stared at the man._

_ The man in return looked at the group, lingering on Dean. He was tall and thin, his hair thinning at the top, and his features twisted into something akin to a scowl._

_ "Are you sure you want the boy to go in there as well?" he asked Marcus, and the reassuring squeeze at his neck came again as Marcus nodded. The man shook his head, but gestured them all in_

_ "Okay, but therapy ain't cheap these days."_

_ Dean allowed himself to be led to the one piece of furniture in the room, the table covered with a single white sheet, and stared at it, letting the voices of the others wash over him. The sheet covered a body, a small tiny form, and he remembered then just how _little _his little brother was the last time he saw him._

_ His stomach somersaulted as the ME stepped up to the top of the table, and Angela's hand found his, held it tightly._

_ "Is this your son?" the ME asked, glancing one final time at Dean, the boy so pale every freckle stood out perfectly, and twitched the sheet down, away from the face it had previously hidden._

_ Dean let out a strangled sob, and his entire body went limp, Marcus reacting quickly to take his arms and keep him upright. At his reaction Angela let out a small sob herself, and she burst into full-blown tears at his next words._

_ "No, it's not Sammy. That's not my brother."_

In his head over the years, he had always seen himself finding Sam, finding dad, and the three of them going off in the Impala almost as if nothing had happened. When the Impala had appeared on Bobby's doorstep a small feeling of hate had welled up inside his stomach. He still wanted to go after both dad and Sam, but Sam was the priority. He had wanted to find Sam, then find dad and give the man a solid and well deserved punch in the mouth, and then go off in the Impala as though nothing had happened.

Sam's lack of comprehension into the paranormal world had proven to damper his ideas. Sam knew nothing of the supernatural and therefore would be going into it all with a 'wet-behind-the-ears' innocence that would get him into trouble. Sam needed to be trained before they went anywhere. The incident with the night hag had proven that.

He had put some debate into how to train Sam up. He needed the kid to be in top shape to watch his back, to be able to look after himself when it came down to it as well, which meant Sammy had to be as good as he was. And he had had been brought up into it whilst Sam had just been thrown into it the past few days.

"He's probably better than you think," Bobby's voice broke his thoughts, and Dean stopped pacing and stared at the older man. Bobby was sat at the desk in the study, watching Dean from over a book. For a moment Dean wondered how he had missed the man when he had first come into the room, but the desk was so heavily stacked with books that they worked as a good screen, effectively hiding the man from a preoccupied Dean.

"Don't sneak up on a man!" Dean hissed, hand against his chest. Bobby snorted, and in the sudden silence he heard the shower overhead shut off, shifted close to the door, asked lowly "What do you mean?"

"Sam," Bobby said, dropping his eyes back onto his book "He's not as awful as you think he's gonna be. Kid's tall, but he ain't scrawny, and it ain't fat neither he's hiding under them clothes. Kid's not unfit, and he's bright, he'll pick it up damn fast I reckon. Stop worrying so much."

"It's not just being able to run and dig holes, Bobby," he said in response

"Kid's gotta shoot and handle weapons and there's Latin..." he tapered off then, Latin had been a thorn in his side for years, the biggest and still ongoing hurdle in his training as a hunter. Bobby knew this to, because he smirked into his book.

"Just see what he can do first Dean," he suggested as Sam's footsteps sounded on the staircase "Tomorrow you can start him on training, just put him through his paces today." Dean gave him a look, but nodded slowly, staring at the door as Sam walked through.

"Alright?" Dean asked him, remembering how Sam had been coming out of his nightmare. The younger man nodded and offered him a quick smile.

"Come on," Dean said, after quickly looking Sam over, he looked alright, the ring of bruises still vivid on his neck but otherwise fine, and he nodded in approval, pushing past his brother and out into the hall "We've got things to be doing."

"No chance of coffee?" Sam grumbled, following after Dean. His brother was not going towards the kitchen, instead going for the front door, and Bobby barked a laugh.

"I'll have a pot ready for you boys when you get back." Sam heard as he stepped out front after Dean.

Dean was already moving down the dirt track, Rumsfeld moving at his side, and Sam huffed, taking the first few feet in disjointed steps as he stretched muscles, and then moving after Dean, jogging at first, picking up speed as he covered more and more ground, and the dog barked and darted back, happy to have someone else on the run, and Dean gave Sam a grin as he caught up and checked his pace.

"Not bad Sammy," he stated cheerfully, "But how long can you keep it going?"

X

Bobby looked up when Rumsfeld slipped into the room, creeping under the desk and lying down with a groan. He watched her pant for a minute, and then got to his feet, moving into the hall and then following voices into the kitchen.

Sam was leaning up against his sink, draining a glass of water quickly. Dean was half in, half out of the fridge, muttering to himself, though he pulled out when Bobby stepped in, both of them had a long line of sweat down the front of their t-shirts, and sweat gleamed on their foreheads.

"Sam said you'd promised coffee," Dean glowered, moving over to empty coffee pot. Bobby's eyes followed him, trying to hide a smirk as Dean waved the empty pot in the air like it would fill that way. He had honestly meant to fill it, but time had got away from him.

"You know how to do it," he told Dean, "Why is my dog in a coma?"

"Sam doesn't quit," Dean said glumly as the younger brother grinned, spinning back to the sink to refill the glass and not let Dean see the smile.

"Foster brother was in the cross-country team," he explained "Used to drag me out with him every day for practise."

"Kid did ten miles easy," Dean muttered, though Bobby could see the pride on his face.

"So you decided to try and kill my dog?" Bobby groused, moving in to the room and glaring at the brothers. Dean smirked back, and Sam ducked his head.

"Didn't have to come with us," Dean muttered, turning back to the coffee pot, attempting, it seemed, to glare it into boiling. Bobby shook his head, and then considered the two boys.

"What next?" he asked

"Want to see how Sam shoots," Dean grunted, apparently getting stressed with the coffee pot, he spun suddenly, looking at his brother.

"Dean-" Sam started, and Dean frowned

"Guns," he muttered "You need guns. There're guns in the boot. I'll give you one of them. There's a Taurus I don't use much. Where did I put that..." he was wandering off without breaking from his thought, leaving the kitchen to find the elusive weapon.

"Idjit," Bobby muttered, moving across the kitchen and turning the quiet pot on. Sam choked on his water, and set the glass down laughing.

"You do know how to shoot?" Bobby asked when the coughs and laughs had died down, and Sam just gave him a look, following after Dean as he swung back into the kitchen and towards the back door. Bobby raised his eyes to the ceiling, grumbled half-heartedly, and followed after the brothers.


	20. Chapter 20

20

_Angela had demanded they all come back to the house after the scare within the morgue. Joshua had responded by ordering them Chinese food._

_ Caleb had followed Dean onto the back porch, pushing a takeaway box into the boy's hands and sitting against the rail Dean leant against, rocking a bottle of beer on the decking for a moment before eating his own Chinese, surreptitiously watching Dean._

_ "We still don't have him," Dean muttered eventually, and Caleb turned his head, giving the boy his undivided attention "They're all really happy, but we've not got Sam. He's not here and they're happy."_

_ "They're happy he's not dead, Dean," Caleb said "When we heard about that kid, and we were so sure it was Sam, we were all shit scared. And if we were terrified, you were going to be worse." He looked at Dean, watching as the kid slipped down to sit beside him "They're just happy he's not dead, because if he's not dead we can keep looking for him. He's not dead, we'll find him."_

_ "You're such a chick," Dean muttered, making Caleb grin "What if we don't find him Caleb? What if he's dead and we haven't found out?"_

_ "Then we'll keep looking," the man responded "We're going to find him Dean. We've called on as many favours as we could think of. Half the hunters out there are looking for him directly, the others will sing out if they catch word. He's not going to just drop off the face of the world."_

_ Dean nodded slowly, thoughtfully, and looked up startled as the smooth glass of the beer bottle hit against his hand, making him stare at Caleb with wide eyes._

_ "Don't drink it all squirt," the older man said with a grin "Consider it a birthday present. Just don't tell Angela."_

Dean wandered into what passed as Bobby's back yard, dropping the duffel he was carting around after him and crossing further through the yard, coming to where it ended and the salvage yard stretched through the acres Bobby owned. He threw the boot open of one of the old cars that lined Bobby's yard, and pulled out numerous bottles and cans. Sam watched him with a raised eyebrow, his eyes leaping from his brother – now lining the cans up in the bed of one of a truck – to the duffel lying in the dust before him.

"Dean?" he called out as his brother wandered back. The elder Winchester gave him a lazy grin, and crouched down before the bag, tugging at the zip and revealing the contents within.

"Hell!" Sam said, startled as he stared down at the numerous weapons lying inside. Dean's grin became more amused now, and he grabbed up one of the top weapons, quickly checking the bullets within it before holding it butt first to Sam.

"Take the gun Sam," he teased, bouncing it lightly in his grip, dragging another gun from the bag as Sam took the Taurus, and rising to his feet, pulling the bag up with him.

"You need this much to hunt with?" Sam asked slowly, eyes still fixed on the duffel of weapons, and Dean glanced at him, smirking.

"There's more than this Sammy," he said easily, putting the bag down beside Bobby where he was sat on the back step of his porch, "Just want to see you shoot one gun before we start on the others." He was moving back to his brother before he heard Bobby snort behind him; there were a lot of weapons in the boot of the Impala, and Bobby kept even more in storage in his house, as did Jim, and the elder man knew that Dean didn't know how to use some, he'd never needed to use the crossbow for instance, it was just _there_.

"She's got about five bullets in her," he told Sam, nodding to the gun that was nearly forgotten in the young man's hand, Sam looked down at it, and then up at Dean again, and his brother nodded now to the set up targets on the bed of the truck.

"Just aim for the targets, Sammy," he said "Don't matter if you don't hit, Bobby doesn't care if the truck gets potted."

"It's Sam," Sam muttered and Bobby grumbled behind them, but he turned and faced the truck in question. Dean raised an eyebrow as he noted Sam's stance, but couldn't say anything before his brother was firing, five quick shots shattering the quiet of the air, causing several birds from further in the scrap yard to take flight in fear.

"I've shot guns before," he said sagely, handing the gun over to his shocked brother, stepping back several steps "You should have listened; it's easier if you listened to that." He twisted on his heel, moving past Bobby and back into the house.

"Have you spoken to Sam?" Bobby asked quietly, as Dean stepped slowly over to him. Dean shot him a bewildered look, and nodded slowly, stashing both guns into the back, and lowering himself onto the stoop beside the older man.

"We talked the other day Bobby," he said slowly "After you dragged me from the car, we spoke then, I don't understand." He scrubbed a hand across his face, blinked out at the quiet yard.

"And you listened?" Bobby asked, and Dean looked at him, confused, making the other man cast his eyes at the sky "When you spoke. You listened to him? You know what went on whilst he was with that other family?" Dean looked startled, and Bobby shook his head, dragging his hat off his head and cuffing the eldest Winchester boy with it.

"What was that for?" Dean asked, rubbing at his skull

"You're an idjit," Bobby gruffed at him, standing up and moving into the yard, returning the hat to his head.

"Where are you going?" Dean called after him

"Can't stand the girly moments," Bobby responded, fishing for his keys "Going into town. Talk to your brother before I get back. And don't kill the dog anymore."


End file.
